#dbf!joel

He’d left for work that morning with his dick as hard as steel, balls as heavy as rocks, and you, gorgeous and naked and entirely unfucked in his king-sized bed.

Idiot that he was, he forgot to buy condoms last week. You’d cleared all thirty-six of the rubbers he’d had during your most recent visit from college, and since then, Joel had been meaning to restock, but it just slipped his mind—now, he was suffering the consequences of that oversight in spades, as he hadn’t been able to get his typical fill of you before he left for work. Or last night.

You’d so sweetly suggested some 69 action after he’d picked you up from the airport the night before, knowing just how badly you wanted each other—despite the fact that it was three A.M. and you happened to be ovulating. But it wasn’t meant to be. No sooner had Joel shucked off his boots, jeans, boxers, and shirt and crawled into the space beside you in bed than you were passed out. Snoring loudly and lying splayed between his sheets without the faintest idea of how horny the old man was.

There is something very wrong with me, he thought.

He’d been so pent-up and wild with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, cunt snug around his cock, that he hadn’t even been able to rub one out after that. It was like some maggot had crawled its way inside his head and had him needing insane things. Stupid things.

Shit that would legitimately get him locked up, or kicked to the doghouse, if he ever shared these thoughts aloud.

He wanted to pump you full of cum.

He craved the feeling of you leaking him.

He felt an urge to fill you like he never had before.

Had he really forgotten to buy those condoms last week? Or had it been the workings of his own subconscious mind, begging him to test the waters of what you would look like flush with that milky white substance and drip—

Shit.

Joel almost spilled his piping hot two-dollar coffee from the gas station onto his pants. Again. He cut the wheel and made the turn, set the cup in its little holder, and, without a second thought for his own well-being, cranked the car stereo to fifty. Fuck his hearing.

‘SWEEEEEEEET EMOOOOOTION!’

That should do the trick.

It seemed deafening himself with classic rock was the only way Joel could keep some semblance of composure today. Admittedly, it worked wonders. He learned it was much harder to stay horny when your head was ringing.

Of course, it had been just his luck that before he’d been able to stop by H-E-B to buy rubbers on his lunch break, you’d called and said you needed a ride from the repair shop. Apparently, your dad’s truck was all kinds of fucked up and he’d asked you to drop it off at the mechanic that afternoon. You’d needed a ride home after, and Joel had only too happily, and hornily, obliged.

He was still stiff as shit pulling into the parking lot a minute later. He reached for the radio dial again but quickly found that he’d turned it all the way to its limit.

His phone buzzed in his pants.

Your name was on the screen.

I gotta fill out some bullshit paperwork. Come on in.

You must’ve seen him park the Bronco from inside.

Is that you blasting Aerosmith in your car? 🤨

Joel let out a sigh and shut off the engine.

Readjusting his rock-hard cock in his jeans, he went in.

And the moment he stepped in there, he regretted it. Joel got exactly one foot inside the door before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his jaw hit the floor.

You were signing paperwork alright—bent over the front desk where everyone in the waiting room of the repair shop could see right up your miniskirt. Joel choked.

There had to be fifteen men in there, at least. All but one old guy dozing off in the corner were gawking at your backside pushed up in the air. Joel saw you shuffle some papers around, eyeball a form and pose a question to the man behind the desk, who was also trying his damndest not to stare, and then hum something low. You laughed.

You were so naïve.

As if a switch had flipped in his head and every thought thenceforth was from a place of being an overprotective, asshole-ish, caveman of a guy, Joel strode in, scowling.

He shot pointed, putrid looks of disdain at every shameless voyeur drinking you in with their eyes, and, to his surprise, a couple turned their gazes guiltily away.

That’s right. Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.

Then, without even really meaning to think it:

She’s all mine. So don’t get your hopes up.

Would anyone in there think you were with him? Did it even matter? In that moment, Joel didn’t give a shit. He just walked in with his head up, jaw clenched, and eyes shooting daggers at every scumbag who dared to keep looking. He approached the front desk just as you turned

“Oh! Hey.” You breathed a sound of surprise, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ll just be a minute.”

You had about thirty seconds before he yanked you out by that little skirt and drilled you on the hood of his car.

Instead of saying that, though, Joel just frowned.

“C’mon, kid, I got places to be. Hurry it up.”

You flashed him a puzzled look but said nothing in reply. He hadn’t expected you to, seeing how occupied you were with discussing your old man’s truck’s transmission flush, tire rotation, wiper blade replacement, and on and on and on until Joel’s head was spinning with all the jargon. Since when did you know about ignition coils?

No matter.

Just a few more action items to parse through, then you’d swipe your card and get the hell out of there.

“I mean…do y’all have to replace that cabin air filter? Can’t my dad do that himself? Or just wait a little bit?”

Surely you knew you were torturing him now.

There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.

The shop employee scratched the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile, right after he’d unglued his gaze from the cleavage spilling out of your top. He coughed.

“Well…well, uh, see here, our last service report says…”

Joel didn’t give a flying fuck what the service report said. He tuned out the rest of what the little pervert was trying to tell you then and turned to face the waiting room with a flinty, stern look. Several sets of eyes snapped away.

One in particular, he noticed, didn’t flinch at all.

Of course it belonged to some shit-brained kid. Probably only two or three years out of high school and ogling you like a slab of meat while his father sat beside him, trying to do the same but slightly more discreetly. How polite.

It was almost as if Joel had acquired some supersonic hearing ability over the last five minutes, and he could somehow tell what the ass-hat was muttering to his dad.

‘Hell, I’d like to bend her over a desk myself.’

His father grinned, eyes wandering again.

‘Yeah. I bet she’d like that. Love it, even.’

Fuck this.

Technically, Joel hadn’t heard the words come out of their mouths, but the intentions had been behind their eyes all the same. He hated it. The longer he stood here with you, the more the odds grew he’d end up decking someone, or throwing a chair at their head, so he swiftly tilted and pressed a touch to your elbow. It amazed him how gentle it was, given the bloodlust percolating within.

“Honey, we need to go,” he told you, voice low.

“What?” You turned. Brows furrowing. “Why?”

Because every swinging dick in this establishment wants to get in you. Let’s dip before I kill someone.

“Because I’m paying for all the repairs. C’mon.”

Before Joel could even begin to contemplate the ramifications of this offer—exactly how much cash he’d be blowing on his best friend’s truck thanks to his impulsiveness—he slid his credit card across the desk and jerked his head toward the door. Telling you to go.

“Joel, you can’t—” you’d just started to say.

“Now that’s a real fine thing to do for your daughter, b—”

It was the latter of these two statements, seemingly spoken at once, that Joel paid any mind at all. The stranger behind the desk’s thinking that he was your dad, and not your partner, made his blood boil beneath the skin. His conviction to do this only grew stronger.

Suddenly, Joel was turning his body to you. Leaning down, gripping your chin in one hand, and letting his mouth land firmly on yours, so that there would be no mistaking who he was, or what he was to you. Not today.

Your lips were warm, and they kissed him back gently. When he’d pulled away, your face, and every expression around yours was painted with some degree of surprise.

The man behind the desk cleared his throat: ‘Uh, sorry.’

Not the dad. Got it.

Joel was glad to spread the message, even if your gaze was lingering on his with a wordless little threat, like you would get him for this. He just grinned and nodded to the door again, then watched you leave, skirt swishing and bobbing all the way to the door. Hardly any eyes followed now, as most were too busy flitting to him.

Good.

Great.

“That’ll be $4,898.72, sir.”

Goddamn.

You hadn’t seen Joel this feral in ages.

Hell, maybe ever.

His cock seemed to be cleaving your body in half with how hard his thrusts were coming in now. How loud those wet slaps against the swell of your ass rang out through the cramped backseat of his car, how deep his tip sank, and how quickly the motions repeated, like Joel was beating a drum somewhere far down in your cervix.

Your eyes rolled. Jaw slackened. Tongue darted from either corner of your lips to lap away the spit that was trickling out. Joel was fucking you that hard. His strokes jostled your body, dick wedging deep and unforgiving, and his eyes were alight with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Your own vision was blurring at the edges.

“Tell me it’s mine,” Joel panted against your neck.

Then, as if his hips had been made to pummel at this relentless, frantic pace, he lowered his torso to yours and drilled away even quicker. The force and the friction were so great you had only to grip his forearms and meet his gaze, barely able to get the words out: ‘Y—Yours, Joel.’

Doing this the day after your period tracker claimed you’d been ovulating probably wasn’t the best idea. Insane as he was with desire, the thought did also seem to cross Joel’s mind as he pounded away. More than once, his brow pinched, and his hips made as if to stutter to a halt. Then the need kicked in. The thing picked up again, harder than it had before, and Joel was back to fucking you hard on the upholstered seats of his Bronco.

Above you, his jaw clenched. His teeth ground tighter.

“This…” he grit out, as if words evaded him. “…OK?”

Yes, Joel.

You’d never seen such bare-faced need from him in all your life, and you loved it. It wasn’t just the expression of a man in love—which he was—but also the face of a person in pain. Someone whose need for your touch was so agonizingly great that he was blind to anything else. Joel lifted his arms to bracket your head so he could get in even closer, and his frantic pants warmed your cheeks. Come evening, you’d happily be popping Plan Bs like candy if it meant another moment of seeing him like this.

Sweat glistened on his brow and in between spatterings of silver and black along his jaw. His gaze was hard and determined, like he was contemplating something else.

Slowly, and with legs trembling against his sides at every thrust, you reached to cup his face. You stroked it gently.

“Is—Is everything alri—”

“I wanna cum inside you.”

Joel’s voice was deadpan, with no preamble or warning. Mere inches from your face, his own was twisted in that strange, pained look. His cock twitched; its pace slowed.

Your walls clamped around him instinctively. You blinked.

“W-What?”

“Wanna fill you up.”

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his tone as his hips rocked steadily against you. If anything, his grip grew even tighter, like he was trying to press you down.

“But Joel, I’m—” Another clench. Another strangled breath. “I still might…be…ovulating. And you’re…”

“Old enough to be your father, ain’t I?” he sneered. “Least, that’s what everybody in that shop seemed to think. What if you made me one today, hm, sweet pea?”

He didn’t mean it.

Joel knew how bad it’d be if he really knocked you up. Just the same, you couldn’t contain the sharp, startled whimper as his cock stirred inside you and that thought took shape—his hot and sticky seed being shot in ropes, painting your needy walls, making you so, so full of him.

Your lizard brain didn’t bat an eye at that.

Blame it on ovulation, a glaring oversight in sex education, your undoubtedly compromised morals or whatever the case may have been, but you wanted it.

You needed him in, making a mess where he shouldn’t.

With sunlight bathing you both in the backseat of Joel’s car, classic rock drifting through the speakers, and one handsome, weathered, earnest expression hovering over yours with the faintest of smiles, how could you refuse?

He sped up again. The hands that had slid to your hips constricted to an almost suffocating level, but it was possessive. Protective. Envy sparked in Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t want nobody oglin’ what’s mine, y’hear?”

It was a question, but it didn’t warrant a reply.

You nodded anyway, watching the older man’s gaze shift from your eyes to your lips to your breasts to, eventually, the sight of his length plunging in and out of your body below. Your eyes trailed after it, and you watched one hand of his move from your hip to your ribs. Rubbing.

Your wet and pliant hole took him with ease and welcomed him in. The sounds of your shared fluids were obscene, but it made the kind of wild, dizzying refrain you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget for years, if ever.

Slowly, Joel’s palm slid over, and his fingers splayed out.

His hand rested flat against your belly as he fucked you with abandon. At a particularly deep thrust, it was as if you felt him all the way up in your lungs, and your throat pushed out a cry. Your legs tightened around Joel’s waist, and you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

“All—All—All yours, daddy. Cum in me, please.”

Joel’s fingers flexed gently on your tummy, then he moved them back and forth as his dick did the same.

The friction nearly sent your mind in a spiral; you glanced down, and you saw his outline, faintly, under that touch.

Joel was so big, and your body was lying perfectly supine on the seat that you could feel him—see him—push repeatedly inside you. A little bulge took shape where his hand was pressing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. Your hands slid to Joel’s hair and yanked.

“Fill me—wanna feel you, daddy, please just fill me—”

“Think a little swell in that belly’ll keep those boys from lookin’, huh? Is that what I gotta do to show ‘em you’re—”

“Yes! Fuck!” you whined.

“—always gonna be mine?”

Joel’s thrusts were relentless. Your brain was on the fritz. Your hips tried to lift, mindlessly, begging him to fill you with his cum, but the man had you pinned underneath him. Sweat drenched you both, and the wildest ideas were humming between you. You were almost there.

“That’d be one way to tell your dad, huh?” Joel panted.

Oh, fuck.

“Have you come home from college all swole up with my kid—he couldn’t keep us apart then, huh?” he went on.

Your father would probably skin him alive if he found out. Still, your lips parted, and you dumbly, sweetly mumbled, OK, OK, Joel. Give me one. Make me a mommy, please.

Joel almost lost his hold on your hip and your belly with that last part; he all but folded in on you with that request. Breathily, through his teeth, he gritted:

“You mean that, baby?”

Again, you nodded.

Momentarily forgetting the outline of his cock in your tummy, the thought of seeing you leaking his cum and squirming for more, it seemed, Joel just sank into you.

He bracketed his arms around your head like he had before, flattened his chest to yours, and fucked you.

It was primal. Needy. Wet. Insatiable. You probably looked feral and senseless, and neither of you cared.

Overhead, the strains of an old ZZ Top song reached a crescendo, and Joel’s eyes stayed locked on yours. His cock stretched you in a way that seemed implausible—you felt him from root to tip and could sense the oncoming pulses before they ever left a drop.

Then Joel kissed you. In his warm, soft, and loving way, his lips melded to yours and caressed them continually. Though it might’ve only lasted a few seconds, the effect was profound, and you found yourself pulling him deeper. Squeezing him tight and taking him whole.

“You really wanna have a baby with me, Miller?”

“Nope.” Joel’s response was instantaneous.

“Wh—”

“Eight kids, at least. You OK with that?”

If you weren’t on the verge of climax, you would’ve laughed in his face. But because you were, and you happened to be head over heels in love with this man, you grinned, nodding. Joel smiled and kissed you again.

“Alright. First one’s comin’ now if you’ll just—oh, fuck.”

It seemed like Joel wanted to drag things out a little longer, but his body had other plans. Yours did, too.

Right as your walls clenched and your senses started to flood with those sweet, euphoric feelings, Joel’s cock throbbed once. Twice. Again and again, unleashing ropes of his cum in a seemingly endless stream. Your heels dug deep in Joel’s back, and your jaw fell open, instinctively. While that sticky-wet warmth filled your insides and Joel continued pounding away, a shriek clawed out from you.

It started as a cry and quickly morphed into a moan, shrill as anything: “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”

You never thought you’d want to upend your life with a child before you even graduated from school or got a job.

Joel clearly hadn’t been planning for that either, and still, his voice was as slow and sweet as molasses in your ear.

“Take it all now, darlin’. That’s it. That’s my girl. So good.”

He stroked your hair and emptied himself completely. His balls must’ve been drained, because you could sense what felt like a torrent of warmth between your legs.

When he pulled out, you both groaned at the sight.

Joel was drenched in his cum and yours. Dripping.

Still oozing a little at the tip, the old man was spent, and it appeared he was about to give himself a good shake and wipe it all off, when you stopped Joel in his tracks.

Your mouth watered as you watched him. You swallowed.

You didn’t even bother to ask for what you wanted, just stuck out your tongue and peered up with doe eyes.

Joel groaned and nodded. He shuffled closer and lowered himself in until his tip was at your mouth.

Your lips closed around him, and your head bobbed down. As his cock filled you whole, your mind went blank. It wasn’t even a matter of sucking him off or getting him clean; you just needed to feel and taste the cum that had sprayed your insides. You craved the scent of the sweet, affectionate man who was well over twice your age and still on board with giving you his babies.

Even if it was just a fantasy between you both…for now.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your lips slipped off him with a pop, and your vision suddenly brightened. You eyed Joel curiously from below, and your heart skipped a beat when you could see he was smiling.

Before he could speak, or else try to clean you up any himself, your own lips twitched a little at the corners. Your gaze searched Joel’s with a soft, tender intensity, and for a second, you debated whether or not to say it.

Quickly, you made your choice.

Just as Joel was about to lean down to reach for his clothes, maybe search the floor for a clean t-shirt or towel to wipe you both down with, his eyes were still glued to yours, and your grin was slowly growing bigger.

Joel cocked a brow in question, and you went on ahead, fighting the urge to laugh while you said, sweet as ever:

“So…it looks like my little miniskirt trick actually worked.”

And if I said Reader got pregnant with twins…THEN WHAT

All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.

Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.

It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.

It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.

Almost.

But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.

You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.

You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.

God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.

You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.

This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.

If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.

Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.

Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.

Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.

This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.

The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.

His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.

The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.

He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.

"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"

There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.

The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.

You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.

“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.

Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.

Practical, like him, you figured.

Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.

“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.

He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”

You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.

Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.

Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.

"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.

The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.

He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.

It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.

“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.

His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.

You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.

Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.

He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”

You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”

He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”

“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.

Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”

You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”

You looked away, jaw tightening.

He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”

“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.

“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.

Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.

“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.

“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”

The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.

He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”

You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”

Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”

Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.

His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”

You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.

The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.

The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.

Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”

You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.

You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.

Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”

You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.

You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.

Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”

He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”

Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.

The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”

You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.

“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”

You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.

Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.

“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”

You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.

“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”

He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.

“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”

You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.

“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.

“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”

The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.

As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.

“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.

You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”

He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”

He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.

There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.

Still, something about it tugged at you.

Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.

You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.

He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.

Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”

You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”

He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”

Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”

His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.

You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.

But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.

“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”

Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”

You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.

You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.

They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.

But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.

The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.

He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.

Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”

Your heart skipped. Just one?

The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.

The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.

Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.

He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.

You weren’t sure what.

He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.

Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.

“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”

You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.

"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”

He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.

You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.

Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”

Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.

“I am grateful,” you said carefully.

“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”

You didn’t reply.

Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”

You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.

Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”

You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”

He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.

“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”

He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.

Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.

The silence returned.

You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:

He thought he was owed something.

You weren’t sure why you stayed.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.

You told yourself it was fine.

But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.

"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”

You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.

Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.

The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.

You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.

When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.

You stood quickly, too quickly.

“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.

Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”

The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.

Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.

You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.

You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.

You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.

You stared at your own eyes for a long time.

You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.

But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.

You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.

“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.

You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.

People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.

One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.

That was the plan. Simple. Safe.

You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.

You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.

It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.

He smiled back.

Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.

You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.

On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.

You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.

Joel did.

Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.

You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.

It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.

Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.

You looked away.

It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.

But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.

You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.

You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.

Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.

You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.

The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.

You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.

Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.

Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.

You weren’t that tired.

At least, you hadn’t been.

You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.

You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.

It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.

But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.

You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.

“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.

His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.

You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.

It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.

You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.

For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.

And something about that absence made your chest tighten.

You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.

Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.

“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”

Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.

You didn’t turn.

Didn’t say anything else.

You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.

Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.

You didn’t look over.

Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.

Maybe not so pointless.

You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.

You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.

But you stayed still.

You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.

“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”

His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.

That should have made it better. It didn’t.

It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.

“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”

When... not if.

You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.

He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.

You flinched.

Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."

But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.

“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”

The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.

But you knew better.

Your body knew better.

You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.

You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.

Joel didn’t go back to the chair.

You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.

Not touching, but close.

You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.

“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.

Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.

He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.

“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.

You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”

It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.

Joel didn’t move away.

His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.

His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.

You saw that.

You felt that.

Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.

You were here. And so was he.

And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.

Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.

He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.

His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.

Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.

The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.

"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.

He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.

His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.

You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.

Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.

Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.

“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”

He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.

Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.

“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.

When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.

He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”

His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.

"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.

You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.

"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.

Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.

"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.

A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...

"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.

"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.

His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."

You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.

You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.

Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."

You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.

His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.

He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.

He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.

You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.

As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.

His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.

"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."

His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.

He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.

The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.

The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.

He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.

Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.

With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.

He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.

"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.

He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.

He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.

"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.

You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.

He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"

What else could you do other then what you were told?

The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.

He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.

He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.

One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.

His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.

You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.

Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.

When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.

Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.

Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.

The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.

There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.

Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.

"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."

It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.

You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.

You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.

"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.

"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"

A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.

And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.

And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.

"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."

You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.

You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.

He had arrived in town just a few months ago, and his arrival was a community event. Everyone was pleased to be a part of Tommy’s reunion with his brother. 

But that excitement for his presence dwindled down pretty quickly as Joel became known for his stoic, quiet, and intimidating demeanor. 

Joel wasn’t exactly a rude man by any means. He mostly just kept to himself when not working, either in the stable or on his front porch with a guitar perched on his lap. He never joined community events, whether it was movie night or Sunday morning church. 

However, his lonesomeness seemed to be a threat to the community. Rumors floated through town, most often spread from patron to patron at the bar or amongst the women who cooked for the Sunday brunch. 

He’s just too quiet. So judgemental. Did you see him yell at his brother yesterday? What a prick. 

Of course she had heard these rumors, which is exactly why she felt deep despair when she found out she was being paired with him for morning patrol for the next week. 

Tommy had posted this week’s duties on the town hall board. It wasn’t unusual for her to be on patrol duty, in fact she preferred it. It was peaceful, getting up bright and early to see fresh, untouched snow powder on the ground. The sound of it crunching beneath the hooves of her horse, a beautiful black mare, was the highlight of her day, everyday. 

But usually she was paired with Ian, a 30-something-year-old man who had become one of her best friends since she arrived a year ago. Occasionally, she would be paired with Eileen, a woman who was around the same age as her. Eileen was very strict, almost too strict. There had been plenty of times where her intense rule-following put their lives in danger.

But nonetheless, she would have much rather been paired up with Eileen than Joel Miller. 

She woke up Monday morning with an atypical amount of anxiety, swirling deep in her chest. She barely got any sleep last night, her mind racing with possible scenarios that could play out on her patrol with Joel. 

She had never even met Joel before. Sure, she had seen him talking to Tommy in the bar on occasion, or heard the soft strumming of his guitar late in the night, way after everyone had fallen asleep but she was still awake, unable to turn off her brain. 

But the two had never shared the same space before. She wasn’t even sure if he knew who she was. Of course, the community of Jackson was ever so small, but she didn’t have a giant presence in the community herself. She attended church for the sole purpose of false hope that there was something greater out there, and she helped hand out popcorn to the kids on movie nights. 

But other than that, she would spend her time in the library, reading every book she could get her hands on, no matter the genre. It was a tiny reminder of life before the outbreak, when she was still a child and spent all her free time reading adventure novels. 

Begrudgingly, she got up and dressed, opting for her typical jeans, boots, flannel and winter coat. She braided her hair back into a french braid, her signature style. After wrapping her gun holster around her thigh and shoving her knife into her boot, she set out towards the stable. 

She was usually early to the stables in the morning so she could sneak her horse an extra apple she had taken from brunch. So it was quite a startle when she flicked on the stable lights to see Joel, already saddling up his brown quarter horse in the dark. 

“Oh!” She squeaked out, hands reflexively squeezing the straps of her backpack. She froze in her place, unsure how to go about the situation. 

He looked at her over his shoulder as he finished tightening the cinch of his saddle with a huff. His eyes took one sweep over her before he just turned back to his horse, his face locked in a nonchalant scowl. 

Joel knew who she was to a certain extent. He noticed her when he visited the library for the first time during the tour Tommy was giving him of Jackson. The library was in an old house that had been remodeled. What used to be the living room and kitchen was now one big room, the walls lined with bookshelves. 

She was sitting on the tiny loveseat that was placed in the corner of the small room. Her feet were tucked underneath her as she was nose deep into a copy of some old romance novel. She didn’t even spare him a glance as Tommy introduced him to the librarian, an older woman named Connie. 

The next time Joel saw her was at the bar. She was celebrating her 21st birthday with a group of people he didn’t recognize. He had only been in Jackson for a handful of weeks at the time, and he spent more time at the bar than his own home, grappling with the loss of everything he’d ever loved. 

The group was purely obnoxious, offering her drinks left and right, singing and dancing to whatever old CD was playing on the radio. Joel stared straight ahead at the bar, downing a few glasses of whiskey before he finally had enough of the young group. He angrily shrugged on his coat before rising from the bar. 

His eyes landed on her, dancing in the middle of a circle of people. She was wearing a short black dress, something the town tailor made for her as a gift for her birthday. His eyes didn’t linger, but the memory was burned into his mind. 

The way the dress hugged her curves, the huge smile on her face, the way her makeup was slightly smudged with a night’s worth of drinking and dancing. For a brief moment, it felt like things were normal. Like he wasn’t in a stranded town in the middle of an apocalypse but rather spending another lonely night in a bar, watching women far too young for him get drunk and grind against men they didn’t know. 

That exact memory played in his mind when he saw her standing in the stable doorway, much more modestly dressed this time. He inhaled sharply through his nostrils, focusing on adjusting his horse’s saddle with a frustrated grunt. 

She frowned momentarily before blinking herself back to consciousness and turning towards the first stall on the left, where her beautiful mare stood waiting patiently. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” she whispered softly, smiling when the horse snorted in response. She unlocked the stall, walking up to the horse and tickling her chin before scratching her chest, muttering soft coos and compliments to her. 

She pulled back to unzip her jacket, pulling out the apple she smuggled and offering it to the horse, “here you go, good girl.” The horse took it happily, eating it in one bite and snorting with pleasure. 

“Tack up,” Joel’s rough voice echoed in the stable, causing her to jump again at the sudden sound. She looked over her shoulder to see him pulling himself up on his saddle with a strained groan before clicking his tongue and walking towards the door, staring at her the entire time. 

“Be ready in ten minutes or I'll leave without you.”

The two had been on patrol for a total of twenty minutes and she was already desperate to be done. 

They hadn’t spoken to each other, not even a discussion of the rules. It wasn’t necessary, they had both been on countless patrols. Joel simply took off on the trail, not caring if she followed him or not. 

She trailed a solid distance behind him, refraining from any possible interaction she could. Her demeanor was steady as she clicked to her horse and occasionally pet her neck with words of encouragement, but her mind was swirling with anxiety. 

Joel was doing exactly what he was supposed to, analyzing the trail for any signs of life, infected or human. He didn’t care to check on her, make sure she was following protocol. He heard the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves against the ground behind him, and that was enough for him to know she was still following him. 

Another painfully silent ten minutes passed and the two still hadn’t acknowledged each other. The trail led into the woods, a clear path ahead of them thanks to years worth of patrols. 

The sounds of the forest were one of her favorite things. The way the leaves brushed against each other in the gentle breeze, the chirping of the birds, frogs croaking in the faraway river. It was so serene, such a deep contrast to the state of the world. 

The sound of a twig snapping caused both of their heads to whip over to the left, her hand reaching straight for the pistol strapped to her thigh, Joel immediately aiming his shotgun towards the noise. 

The two horses stalled immediately. Her heart was racing as she noticed her horse’s ears pinned and twitching towards where the noise came from. Joel scanned the area with keen eyes, looking for any movement. 

There was absolutely nothing for a solid thirty seconds. Both of them didn’t move, didn’t even look at each other. Just staring deep into the forest for any signs of someone. 

Joel clicked his tongue ever so quietly, urging his horse off the trail and towards the noise. His horse didn’t even complete two strides before a deer jumped out of a bush next to her, darting behind her horse, kicking up rocks at her as it took off. 

Her horse spooked at the feeling of something unknown behind her, rearing up with a whine before falling back forward and kicking back towards the now far away deer. Joel whipped around with wide eyes and an aimed shotgun, quickly lowering it when he noticed her spooked horse. 

“Shh!! Shh, girl, stop! It’s okay!” She pleaded, holding on to her reins and squeezing her thighs against the horse as tight as she could, trying not to fall off. But her horse was too far gone, spooked and bucking relentlessly. 

With one particularly strong kick, she flew from her saddle with a yelp, landing hard on her back. Her horse took off back towards Jackson, following the trail back to where she knew was safe. 

“Y/N!” Joel yelled, sliding his shotgun under the horn of his saddle and sliding expertly off his horse, running over to her on the ground. 

She was rolling over to her side with a loud groan, reaching back to hold her back that was now sore from the fall. Joel stumbled down to his knees with a groan of his own, eyes scanning over her to assess her condition. 

His hands hovered over her body, unsure if he should touch her or not. “Y/N, are you alright?” He asked, his voice raspy and deep. He reached for her head, touching the top of her head with a featherlight touch, “did you hit your head?”

She shook her head with a groan, “No, just landed a little hard.” She inhaled deeply before slowly sitting up, her back and ass aching from the impact. She stretched her neck, her wrists, her ankles, making sure she didn’t break any bones. She sighed with relief that she was still intact, albeit a little sore. “I’ll be alright. Let’s just finish our rounds.”

Joel frowned slightly, watching as she stretched out her muscles. He knew what it felt like to take a fall like that, and if it had been him, he wouldn’t have been able to stand straight for a week. 

He wanted to protest her as she began to rise to her feet slowly, but he just kept his lips shut, offering her support. He wrapped one arm under hers, grabbing her waist to help lift her to her feet. 

“Fuck,” she huffed at the pain, but was able to stand up straight. Once she was back upright and her head stopped spinning, she realized she was still holding on to Joel’s shoulder, and quickly disconnected herself with wide eyes. “I’m good.”

He watched her with uneasiness as she hobbled over to where her backpack had been flung off her horse. She groaned in agony as she bent down to pick it up, shrugging it onto her shoulder with all her strength. She turned back around to him, noting the expression of uncertainty on his face. 

“I’m fine,” she reiterated, her tone more insistent this time. She made her way back over to him, huffing as she walked past him and towards his horse. She knew they had to finish their rounds.

Just because it was a deer this time doesn’t mean it won’t be a clicker next.

Joel stood stuck in his spot, watching as she limped over to his trusty steed. He crossed his arms, watching with a smirk as she attempted to lift her leg up into the stirrup, only to fail with an exasperated huff. 

She turned to Joel with furrowed brows, gesturing to the horse. “Could you help me, please?” She asked so sweetly, frowning at her condition but determined to finish their rounds. Joel noted that determination before he walked back over to his horse, shaking his head with disbelief. 

“Tough girl,” he stated as he pulled her backpack off of her shoulders, slinging it over one of his. He helped her lift her foot into the stirrup slowly, letting her move at her own pace as she winced in pain. 

“‘M gonna lift you on three,” he mumbled, placing his hands on her waist. She sucked in a breath at the feeling of his big warm hands through her jacket. She bit her bottom lip, doing everything she could to ignore the butterflies that fluttered softly in her stomach at the feeling of him touching her. 

He counted up to three before hoisting her up, and she stood up straight with her foot in the stirrup before swinging her leg over slowly, groaning in pain in the process. Joel tapped her foot, signaling her to remove it from the stirrup so he could join her atop the horse. 

She slid as far forward in the saddle as she could, taking her feet out of the stirrups and instead stretching out her legs. Joel reached up to grab the horn of the saddle, his arm resting against her thigh in the process. 

She did everything in her power to ignore that sensation, too. 

Joel hoisted himself up, sliding into the saddle behind her and adjusting his feet in the stirrups. Her back was pressed right up against his chest, the back of her thighs warm against the top of his. 

Her ass pressed right up against his pelvis. 

Joel inhaled sharply at the realization of their proximity. He attempted to scoot back in the saddle, but there was no way to escape how close she was. 

And her heart was racing at the feeling. She was only 12 when the outbreak happened, and a pandemic wasn’t exactly the best conditions for finding a romantic partner. She had only experienced her first kiss just six months ago after getting drunk and finding the bartender particularly attractive that night. And she was lucky enough that he had his eyes on her also. 

She hasn’t been to the bar since that night.

“Um,” Joel mumbled behind her, interrupting her thoughts. His voice vibrated through his chest and into her own body, sending a shiver down her spine. “I need the reins,” Joel said flatly, trying his best to remain nonchalant. 

“Oh,” she said softly, lifting her arms so he could reach under her arms and grab the brown leather reins. He cleared his throat, reaching for the reins and clicking his tongue, encouraging his horse back onto the trail. 

For the first five minutes, his arms hovered above her thighs with extreme hesitation. But his arms were starting to ache, and he had to lower them. 

“Is it okay if I, uh-,” Joel said, his voice breaking the prolonged silence. He didn’t finish his sentence before resting his forearms against her thighs with caution. 

She took in a deep breath at the feeling. The sight of his strong hands sitting just inches away from the apex of her thighs and his arms resting against her thighs, the only barrier being her jeans, was very overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” she answered breathlessly. She scolded herself internally at the sound of her pathetic little agreement, worried that he might think she is actually enjoying this closeness. 

Even though she is absolutely enjoying this closeness. 

The sound of her little whimper of a ‘yes’ sent adrenaline straight down to his dick. He cursed himself out in his mind when he felt his cock twitch to life behind the confines of his jeans.

 He absolutely would not get a boner right now. 

Right now with her back pressed against his chest. 

Right now with her thighs on top of his strong, muscular thighs.

Right now with her hips moving against him in rhythm with the steps of his horse.

Right now with her ass nestled against his cock. 

Fuck, he thought to himself as his dick began to press more persistently against the zipper of his jeans. 

In that moment, he prayed to God for the first time in a decade. Praying that she couldn’t feel his cock growing harder against her. 

It was a week after she had her first interaction with Joel. 

That first day played in her head on repeat. The two had finished their rounds without incident, and Joel was able to hone in his teenage-like hormones with the thought of how many people he’s murdered over the years. 

When they had returned to Jackson, everyone rushed to the door, worried sick for their wellbeing. Her sweet mare had returned to the town without her, which sent everyone into a panic, assuming the worst had happened. 

To say you were the talk of the town for the next two days would be an understatement. 

Much to her dismay, Joel had convinced Tommy to take you off of patrol for the week. You were replaced with John, the most boring, mundane white dude in Jackson. 

John was the perfect patrol partner for Joel. 

Not her. 

Tommy insisted that she stayed home for a week to recover from her fall, even though she wasn’t actually injured. Maria checked in on her every day, making sure she wasn’t concussed or something. 

She really did not understand all the fuss. 

Anytime she left her small home at the end of the street, it was like there were people posted specifically to help her. Two or three people would swarm her, offering to help her with anything she needed. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” became her slogan. 

She wondered why Joel was so insistent on switching partners. Did she do something wrong? Her horse getting spooked wasn’t her fault, and everyone knew she was a steady shot. She didn’t even talk to him for the rest of their rounds, so she couldn’t have possibly said something to hurt his feelings. 

One thing she did know, however, is she could not get him out of her head. 

She had never felt this way about a man, about anyone really. He was the first thing she thought of when she woke up, wondering if he was up too, if he was already at the stable and preparing for patrol. He was the last thought before she dozed off, wondering if he would dream of her like she did of him. 

It had only taken a week, one day’s worth of interaction, for Joel to worm his way into the folds of her brain. 

And Joel had become a ghost.

 It seemed like he was avoiding her at all costs. He was never on his porch, never near the stable, never at brunch or dinner or movie night. She didn’t even see him sitting with Tommy in the evenings, sharing a beer like they do every evening. 

Which is why, exactly a week from the day they met, she made her return to the bar. 

The door chimed with her entry, and she was thankful when she saw a woman bartending rather than the guy she had drunkenly traded saliva with all those months ago. She made her way straight to the bar with one goal in mind and one goal only.

To get drunk. 

“Whiskey sour, please,” she asked softly, sliding onto a bar stool and bracing herself against the bar. 

“Good choice,” the bartender nodded with a smile, reaching for a glass and pointing to her with squinted, inquisitive eyes, “are you the chick that fell off her horse?”

Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she brought her hands up to cover her face with a playful groan. “Oh god,” she chuckled softly, the bartender giggling at her reaction as she began pouring the whiskey. “I don’t even want to know what you’ve heard.”

“Not much,” she shrugged, squeezing lemon juice into the glass. “Just that you’re a badass.” She grinned at her as she slid the glass to her across the bar, “I’m Lena.”

“Thank you, Lena,” she smiled back, taking a generous sip of the drink, humming as the liquid burned its way down her throat. “Y/N.”

The sound of heavy boots thudding against the floor caught her attention. She turned towards the sound, noticing a man leaving the restroom. She turned back to Lena, opening her mouth to say something before the man slid onto the stool a few feet away from her. 

“Whiskey. Neat.”

Her spine straightened at the sound of the voice, a sound she had been imaging for a week straight. She couldn’t even look at him, her breath stuck in her throat as she stared straight ahead. 

“Yes sir,” Lena said, walking over to prepare his drink. She put the glass down in front of him before pulling a bottle off the wall, pouring a generous amount into his glass. “You see we’ve got the town badass here tonight, Mr. Miller?”

Her heart was racing, and even though she had been seeking him out for the last few days, she wanted nothing more than for a sinkhole to form right below her stool and suck her into it. 

Joel looked down the bar to see who Lena was referring to, doing a double take when he noticed that it was her. She lowered her face behind her hand in embarrassment, but her rose tinted cheeks were still very obvious. 

She was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a plain black women’s henley with all four buttons undone, showing off her cleavage. Her hair was brushed, laying against her back in long, shiny locks, a striking contrast to her typical French braid. 

Fuck, Joel cursed to himself when he felt his whole body temperature increase a few degrees just at the sight of her. 

Yes, he had been avoiding her.

He had begged Tommy to change his patrol partners, making sure he was never paired with her again. He refused to put himself in any position where he would see her, staying inside when playing guitar or sharing a beer with his brother. 

That night after their shared patrol, he laid in his bed, unable to sleep. She was the only thing on his mind. Her determination, her stubbornness, her scent, the heat of her body, the softness of her hair. All of it, he couldn’t get enough. 

His dick had been hard for so long it was becoming painful. Joel struggled with his conscience for about ten minutes before he finally shoved his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and wrapped his long fingers around the length of his cock, groaning as he imagined it was her hand wrapped around him. 

He fucked his fist to the thought of her that night, cumming harder than he had in years. 

There was no way he could face her after that. 

He had heard through the grapevine, now that she was a local celebrity, that she never visited the bar. Of course the day he decided to grab a drink, she ended up making her return to the goddamn bar. 

An awkward silence had fallen on the three of them as Joel simply stared at her. Lena’s eyes flicked between the two of them for a moment before she raised an eyebrow, “Alrighty then.”

Lena turned down to the other end of the bar, chatting up a regular and serving him another beer. 

Joel kept his eyes trained on the woman next to him, watching as she slowly lowered her hands and finally met his gaze. The sight of her big eyes staring back at him through her lashes was enough for him to remember exactly why he was so turned on by her. 

She chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she looked at him, wanting to say a million things all at once, but the thought of actually speaking made her feel unbelievably nervous. She grabbed her glass in front of her, downing the rest of her whiskey in hopes it would encourage her to face him. 

He watched her throat as she drank the liquor, licking his lips at the sight. The sound of her glass hitting the bar top was loud in the rather quiet establishment. He inhaled sharply before finally breaking the silence. 

“How’s your back?”

She cleared her throat, her lips forming a straight line as she nodded, her eyes trained on her fingertip that she traced around the rim of her glass nervously. “Fine,” she answered, sitting up slightly straighter to punctuate her point. 

He hummed, turning his attention to the bottles of alcohol that lined the wall behind the bar and taking a healthy sip of his whiskey. He noticed her leg bouncing ever so slightly from his peripheral, her lip drawn back between her teeth and her brows furrowed. 

What he didn’t see was her inner turmoil, trying to decide how to approach the situation. She had so many things she wanted to address; why was he avoiding her, what did she do wrong?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Joel letting out a small groan as he leaned over, his arm reaching out towards her. She jumped slightly as his hand reached for the underside of her stool, gasping softly when he pulled her and her stool closer to him possessively. 

There was maybe only a half of a foot between them, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His actions only made her more confused as she stared at him with wide eyes while he drank the rest of his whiskey before turning to face her fully, his thighs pressing against the outside of hers. 

“What’s got ya so worried?” He asked gruffly, leaning against his elbow on the bar as he studied her. 

Her face was flushed red in embarrassment, confusion, and worst of all – arousal.

He was so close, so warm, so big, and so intimidating. She couldn’t even bring herself to form words, overwhelmed by the proximity. She could literally smell him, a mix of whiskey, tobacco, and a musk that was so distinctly him.  

He couldn’t help but smirk down at her, noticing her flustered state. For just a brief moment, he was transported back to 2003, before the outbreak. When he would sit in a bar and flirt up a girl for hours before taking her home and having his way with her. 

Joel was about halfway through that cycle now with her, and he didn’t plan on breaking that cycle tonight. 

He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by Lena, her eyebrows raised in surprise at her patrons’ newfound closeness, “Getting snuggly in here, huh?” She reached for Joel’s glass, filling it again for him to which he nodded in appreciation for. Lena giggled at Y/N’s obvious embarrassment, “you want a refill, hun?”

Y/N cleared her throat, shaking her head while she fiddled nervously with her fingers in her lap, “No, thank you.”

Lena nodded, taking her empty glass and placing it next to the old sink, “Alright. Remember you two – no fucking on my bar top!” Lena laughed softly when Y/N gasped before prancing off to serve the newest patron at the bar. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Y/N muttered under her breath, combing her fingers through her head to shield her face from Joel’s heavy stare. He couldn’t help himself when he automatically reached out, tucking her hair back behind her ear before letting his hand fall down, rubbing her arm softly before bringing his hand back to his knee. 

Her skin raised in little goosebumps at the feeling of his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her cheek and ear. She closed her eyes at the feeling, trying to will away her desperate arousal and ignoring the growing warmth in her core. 

Joel refrained from smiling at her reaction as he sipped his whiskey refill. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” She blurted out of nowhere, causing Joel to choke slightly on his drink at her sudden outburst. He looked at her while wiping a dribble of whiskey from his bottom lip with raised eyebrows. 

She frowned, her body relaxed instantly as if that single question had been what had her wound up so tight. When Joel saw that sweet pout on her face, mixed with a tinge of uncertainty and sadness, he damn near fell apart. 

He inhaled deeply before letting out a sigh, taking his time to find his words before he slowly brought his hand from his own knee to hers, holding her thigh just above her knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth against a little grass stain on the knee of her jeans. 

“Didn’t want to avoid you,” he said softly, his voice strained and low. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as he stared down at the little grass stain, almost nervous to look at her face. “Had no choice, darlin’.”

She tried to ignore the way that little pet name sent a shiver down her spine and a flutter to her core. Her mouth ran dry as she watched his thumb rub against her knee, the heat of his big hand hot on her thigh. She was confused by his answer, but before she had time to press on, he was already answering her unasked questions. 

“I knew that if I had to go on patrol with you again…” he trailed momentarily, leaning back to grab his glass and down the rest of the liquor, hoping to calm his nerves with the liquid courage. “Knew that if I even saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back.”

Joel finally lifts his head to meet her eyes, his own flicking between hers, searching for any reaction. 

“Can’t get you out of my head, darlin’. Can’t stop…fuck, I can’t stop imaging your ass pressed up against me in that saddle.”

Her jaw dropped open in shock, a blush creeping up her neck all the way up to the tips of her ears. She was completely speechless, staring at him with wide eyes as she processed his words. Her pussy fluttered at his admission, and suddenly she felt like she was being suffocated by their proximity. Her eyes flicked across the room, nervous that any of the other patrons just heard what he said. 

“Oh…” was all she was able to utter, unsure how to respond. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she frantically searched around the room, focusing on anything but him. 

He watched her nervously, immediately wishing he could swallow his words back up and keep them locked in the deepest depths of his soul, never to be heard. 

There was a long stretch of silence between the two of them, and Joel was about to just apologize and leave before she finally said something in response, reaching for her jacket while she stood up. 

“Leave ten minutes after I do,” she said, standing on her feet between his thighs. His eyes widened as he shifted so she could walk away, listening intently to her instructions. 

“I’m going to go home, Joel. Come to the back door.”

Joel stared at his watch for the entire duration of the ten minutes after she walked out of the bar. His knee was bouncing anxiously, his mind was racing, and his cock was already getting excited at the thought of what was to come. 

He walked as inconspicuously as possible, hoping nobody was paying him any mind. Luckily, it was late out, and most of the town had retired to their bed already. He made his way through her backyard and up to her back door, taking a deep breath before knocking on the screen door. 

It opened after a brief moment, and she ushered him inside. She had already taken off her coat and shoes, and she had a few candles lit in the kitchen. 

“Could I get you something to drink?” She asked politely, reaching up in a cabinet and grabbing a glass. 

Joel nodded, “water’s fine.” He took in her space, noticing the large bookcase that sat in her living room. She had one loveseat that sat across from a fireplace, the mantle above it decorated with hanging plants and small wooden horse figurines. There was one framed photo placed directly in the center of her mantle. He made out two adults and a child in the photo, presumably her and her parents. 

She poured him a glass of water, handing it to him and gesturing to the couch, “please, make yourself comfortable. I can take your jacket.”

He shrugged off his jacket, handing it to her with a polite ‘thank you’ before making his way over to the couch. She didn’t take long to follow suit after hanging up his jacket, pouring herself a glass of water and joining him on the couch.

A long stretch of silence weighed heavy, tension so thick in the air she could feel it pressing down on her lungs. Joel stared into the fire while taking a big swig of his water, gulping down half of the glass. 

His body felt like it was on fire being so close to her. Joel hadn’t been with a woman in years, he had no desire to. But something about her was so divine and enticing, drawing him in like a moth to a flame from the moment she first stepped foot into the stable.

She leaned forward to sit her glass down on the little coffee table in front of the loveseat. Her hands were shaking, and Joel noticed. Her entire body seemed to be fidgety, like a live wire.

After she sat back upright, Joel sighed, sitting his own glass on the coffee table before leaning back up against the couch. He didn’t look at her, his eyes trained on the fire once more, but he reached out, placing his hand on her thigh, just above her knee. 

She took in a deep breath at the feeling, swallowing nervously. Joel’s thumb traced little circles on her jeans before his hand started to move, ever so slowly inching up her thigh. 

“You’re a very pretty girl, ya know that?” Joel said softly, finally turning his head to look at her. He was pleased when he noticed her flustered state and rosy cheeks. His hand made its way up to her hip, where he gripped her flesh possessively. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

She let out a shaky breath, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip before she shook her head, moving one of her hands to his forearm, holding the strong, warm muscle. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Joel took in a long breath at her words, exhaling even longer. His eyes searched hers for any caution, any uncertainty. And when he found none, he leaned in to wrap his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. 

She straddled him with a tiny yelp of surprise, giggling at how easily he was able to move her. He smiled at the sound of her giggle. 

She smiled back at him. She had never seen him smile before, his teeth were straight and clean, suiting his features perfectly. She tried her hardest to etch the image into her memory. 

Joel hummed when she brought her hands up to his shoulders, rubbing the tense muscles softly. He brought his hands to her thighs, rubbing them gently before moving his hands to her ass, giving them the same treatment. 

Her ass was simply perfect. It fit in his large palms like a missing puzzle piece, meaty and strong. He couldn’t help himself when he drew his hand back, clapping it back against her ass with a grin. 

The whine that left her lips was completely beyond her control. 

She was already overwhelmed by the feeling of being so close to him. The feeling of his warm breath fanning across her face, the feeling of his body beneath her relaxing with her touch, the feeling of his incessant need growing harder against her core. 

So when he smacked her ass, she couldn’t help it. 

And he couldn’t get enough of it. 

He smacked her ass once more, this time on the other cheek, grinning in satisfaction when she moaned louder this time. 

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, adjusting himself and unintentionally lifting his hips up against her. They both let out a little moan at the sensation, and his cock felt like it was about to rip through his jeans itself. 

“Joel,” she whispered, her eyes closed as she tried to recalibrate. His cock jumped at the sound of his name on her lips. 

She hesitated for a moment, too embarrassed to admit her secret. She let out a groan and shoved her face into the crook of his neck, trying to hide from him. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he lifted his hand from her ass to her back, rubbing her back in small circles. 

“What is it, darlin’?” 

With a small pout, she muttered the words against the skin of his neck. He was too concentrated on the feeling of her lips against his skin for the words to process, but when they did, he knew it was over for him. 

“I’m a virgin.”

Oh. Oh.

He nearly just came in his pants.

The thought of him being the one to touch her first, claiming her as his and his only, showing her how good it could feel to be bad. God, it was almost too much for him. 

And she knew it when he let out a groan and lifted his hips against her even harder. She didn’t know what to expect, but him being into the idea was the last thing she expected. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” he cooed, trying to hone in his strong need to fuck her into next week and instead give her the affection she needed. “We don’t have to do anything,” he grumbled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he continued to rub her back, bringing his other hand up to her head to run his fingers through her hair. 

“But I want to,” she said, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of him comforting her. She had never felt this before, so cared for and considered. 

Joel smiled, “me too, honey.” He bit down on his lip as the hand on her back trailed back down to her ass and the hand in her hair gripped her locks gently, just enough to pull her head back and face him. 

He lifted his hips against her with a hum, smiling when she let out a pathetic little whine. He hadn’t even kissed her yet and she was already so far gone. 

“Feel how bad I want ya?” He asked, rolling his hips against her once more. She moaned a little louder, rolling her hips back against him, causing him to sputter out a little, “fuck.”

She sat back up in his lap, licking her lips and grinding against him a little harder, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat. “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted, “I don't want to disappoint you.”

As she stared at him with those big eyes, he couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking she could ever disappoint him. 

“Could never disappoint me, darlin’,” he rasped, one hand gripping her ass and the other moving up to her cheek. He drew her in slowly, his eyes focused on her lips. He was just millimeters away from kissing her before uttering one final phrase that made her simply melt. 

“Such a good girl.”

His hot lips pressed against hers in a slow, innocent kiss. Her body was on fire as she moved her fingers to his hair, gripping his salt and pepper curls to ground herself. He groaned against her at the feeling, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue against her lips delicately. 

She opened her mouth, moaning at the hot intrusion of his tongue against hers. Her hips moved on their own accord, grinding down against him. The feeling of his hard cock straining against the confines of his jeans made her heart race, her hips moving on their own to continue to rut against him. 

Joel quickly became hungrier, needier. His hips bucked up to meet hers, his hand on her cheek moving to her fist her hair, pulling her head back before he moved his hot lips to her chin, tracing her jaw and placing delicate kisses against the column of her throat. 

The sensation of his hand in her hair mixed with his mouth on her neck set her skin on fire, her chest heaving as she struggled to maintain a steady breath. She let out a moan when he smacked her ass while simultaneously biting her pulse point, making sure he left a mark. 

Joel couldn’t help himself as he pulled her closer into him, if that was even possible. He pulled away from her, grumbling a low, “where’s the bedroom, honey?”

“Second door on the left,” she huffed out, moving to stand up but being abruptly cut off when Joel wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up. She yelped, wrapping her arms and legs around her, giggling as he placed featherlight kisses against her cheek as he walked towards her bedroom. 

The sound of her giggles in his ear made him chuckle softly against her cheek as he continued to pepper her face with kisses when he walked into the bedroom, swiftly making his way over to her bed and sitting her down gently. 

She reached up to turn on her lamp, a little pink shade with a white base. Joel stood at the foot of the bed between her thighs, grinning down at her. 

After a few moments of his staring, she couldn’t help but laugh nervously, moving her arms to try and cover herself, feeling hot under his gaze. He smirked at her nervousness before sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed with a groan, his knees popping in protest. 

She sat up, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He reached for one of her ankles, pulling off her sock gently before moving to the next one. Her heart swelled at the sight: Joel Miller on his knees between her thighs, pulling off her little white cotton socks. 

Once both of her socks were off, Joel brought a hand to each of her calves, massaging the muscles gently. “Such a beautiful girl,” he said, his tone full of admiration. “Does my pretty girl want to take off her clothes?” he asked, softly. 

She nodded, her pussy fluttering at the possessiveness in his words. He hummed in response, reaching up and putting his hands on his hips before thumbing the hem of her shirt. Slowly, his big, warm hands slid under her shirt, grazing her nipples through her bra before pulling the shirt up and over her head. 

She shuddered at the feeling of his hands against her skin, and her whole body twitched when his hands ran over her pebbled nipples. 

When Joel finally got her shirt off and tossed it to the side, he couldn’t help but moan pathetically at the sight of her little black bralette that held her beautiful tits in such a way that he felt jealous of the bralette. 

“Fuck, you’re like a goddamn angel,” he said softly, reaching to cup her breasts through the bralette. She gasped at the feeling, moaning when he brought his index finger and thumb together to pinch her nipples through the lace fabric. 

He brought one of his hands down to her hip, watching her every move as he slowly dragged his hand across her thigh before up and tracing the hem of her jeans, smiling when her body twitched in response. 

“How about we get these jeans off ya, princess?”

She nodded excitedly in response, leaning back on the palms of her hands while he began to make work of the button and zipper of her jeans. He took his time sliding the zipper down, smirking up at her as he watched her breathing get heavier by the second. 

Finally, he curled his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans. “Lift your hips, baby girl,” he said gently and she immediately followed orders. He slowly slid the jeans down her thighs, his fingers grazing her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled her jeans off her ankles, tossing them in the same direction as her shirt. 

Instinctively, she squeezed her thighs closed, embarrassed to have someone so close to her core. Joel looked up at her through his lashes with a threatening expression, clicking his tongue and bringing his hands to her knees, wordlessly spreading her legs apart. 

The look on his face sent her heart racing even more, and she felt herself clench around nothing. 

Joel licked his lips when he was finally face to face with her panty-covered pussy, smirking at the obvious wet patch on her light pink cotton panties. 

“My god, straight from Heaven,” he uttered before bringing his hands around to her ass and tugging her towards the edge of the bed. She let out a little squeak of surprise, moving her hands to his hair as he moved in closer to her core. 

He could fucking smell her arousal and it smelled like the sweetest honeysuckle known to man. 

He hesitated before going in, wanting to be sure he didn’t push her too far. Looking up at her, he nodded towards her, “can I taste? Please?”

She damn near came at the sight, nodding and spreading her legs even further apart. 

He moved in, pressing his nose against the wet patch of her panties, breathing in as deep as he could. She gasped at the feeling, running her fingers through his hair nervously, trying to ground herself and realize that this was actually happening.

Joel let out a low hum before pressing a gentle kiss to her thighs, his hands moving from her ass to the waistband of her panties. He couldn’t even mumble out the question before she was already lifting her hips, and that made him smile. 

“My good girl,” he whispered as he pulled her panties down her legs. 

After throwing them to the side, he was finally face-to-face with her bare pussy. Leaking sweet nectar, her puffy lips glistening in her arousal, Joel decided then and there that if he were ever to be asked what his last meal on Earth would be, her sweet pussy would be his answer. 

He mumbled out a little, “oh my god,” before moving in, pressing his lips to the top of her mound. She had her lip drawn between her teeth and her eyes squeezed shut, trying to focus on the sensations. 

She couldn’t help the moan that slipped past her lips when he brought his hand from her ass to her pussy, spreading her lips and pressing a kiss to her swollen clit. He pressed a few more soft kisses against her clit before finally pressing the wet, hot muscle of his tongue up against her.

A guttural moan she didn’t even know she was capable of ripped through her, and she felt immediately embarrassed. But Joel hummed happily in response to her, making her whine again and suddenly she didn’t care how loud she was. 

And Joel only wanted her to be louder. 

He moved his finger down to her patiently waiting hole, barely pressing his fingertip against her. His other hand moved to her mound as he brought his thumb to her clit, his tongue and thumb performing perfect ministrations against her. 

Slowly, he pushed his finger further into her tight, virgin hole, curling it upwards against her until he hit that particular spot that made her moans grow even louder. 

She fell flat on her back against the bed, her tits bouncing and her fingers pulling on his hair in pure ecstasy. He watched the whole thing, groaning against her as he began to add a second digit, and then a third. He watched her body contort as he moved his thick digits inside of her, his thumb and tongue still working on her clit. 

“Oh fuck,” she cried out, her thighs beginning to quiver. She squeezed her thighs against his head as her orgasm quickly approached, overwhelming and overstimulating. 

With one skilled curl of his fingers, she came undone. Her orgasm washed over her with an intensity she never knew was possible. Joel didn’t stop, instead fucking her with his fingers and lapping up her nectar even faster, taking everything that she was willing to give to him. 

After a few minutes of this, it became all too much. She whined, pushing her hands against his forehead and wiggling away from him, mumbling nonsense.

He finally pulled away against his will, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, savoring any last drop he could. He stood up to his feet with a groan, leaning back over her. 

Her face was flushed a deep tinge of pink from the intensity of her orgasm. She was a babbling mess, her hair splayed all around her and a slight collection of drool dripped down her cheek. 

Joel fell in love with her at that moment. 

She reached up for him, tugging on the collar of his flannel and pulling his face down to hers. His chin glistened with her arousal, and she could taste herself on his lips. His wet beard and mustache spread her slick all over her face, and all she could was hum in satisfaction. 

She began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt desperately, pulling away from the kiss to mumble little pleas. 

He moved with just as much urgency, kicking off his boots, pulling down his jeans and boxers to his ankles and tossing them to the side before slipping off his flannel and white t-shirt he always wore underneath it. 

And there he was. Joel Miller, completely naked before her. Completely naked in front of a woman for the first time in three years. 

If his dick wasn’t so painfully hard, he would’ve taken more time to relish the moment. 

When she finally laid eyes on his cock, her jaw dropped in shock. He was massive. From the base that was covered in soft little black curls, all the way to the angry red tip, he was thick. Prominent veins caught her attention, running up and down the length of him. 

And then the anxiety set in. 

“There is no way that is fitting inside of me,” she said anxiously, her brows knitted together in worry. “I mean like absolutely no way.” 

Joel couldn’t help the small chuckle he let out, shushing her softly and leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead, then each of her cheeks, and then her lips. She physically felt her heart rate slow down at the sweet gesture, but she was still in disbelief at the size of him.

“We’ll make it fit, my sweet girl,” he said softly before pressing another gentle kiss against her lips. “If you still want to do this,” he added, making sure she knew she could back out if it was too much. 

She nodded, whispering a soft, “okay,” before bringing her hands up to wrap around his shoulders, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Just, please go slow.”

“Of course, baby girl,” he smiled, pulling her into another intense kiss as he adjusted his hips, laying his cock flat between her lips. They both moaned at the contact, and Joel knew that this was going to be the ultimate test of patience.

Joel moved to his lips her jaw, then her ear, and then her neck, all while reaching behind her and popping off her bralette masterfully. 

Still got it, he thought. 

He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts, moving his hand to massage one and pressing kisses against the other, working his way down slowly before finally pulling her nipple between his lips. 

She gasped at the sensation, closing her eyes and trying to take deep breaths, calming herself down. Joel slowly moved his hips, bringing his already leaking tip to prod against her tight little hole. 

Joel removed his lips from her nipple, looking up at her with a sense of endearment. “Take in a deep breath, baby,” he said softly, moving over to her other nipple and sucking it into his mouth. 

When she followed his orders, breathing in deeply from her belly, Joel pushed the tip into her hole, effectively stretching her out. The intrusion was extremely painful, and she made it known with a groan and clawing her fingers down to his shoulders from his head. He grunted, his arms practically shaking as he tried to hold back from burying himself to the hilt. 

“Doing…so good, baby girl,” he damn near whimpered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. When her breaths finally slowed down, he pushed a little further. Her face scrunched up in pain, but it was slightly more bearable this time. “Tell me to stop,” he said through strangled breaths, sheathing himself at a snail’s pace. 

She nodded, concentrated on keeping her breathing steady and her body relaxed. Each painful millimeter by painful millimeter, Joel kept his eyes focused on her in case she hesitated for even a millisecond. 

But she didn’t, all the way up to when he was buried balls deep inside of her.

For a second time this week, he noted her determination.

She let out a long exhale when she felt him fully buried inside. It was extremely painful, and she couldn’t move an inch. Her body was frozen, just silently taking him in. 

And Joel was placing gentle kisses across her chest and neck, whispering little praises in between each kiss.

 “So good,” “feels so fucking perfect,” “like you were made for me,” “my sweet princess.” 

He was struggling, using all of his willpower to not move even though he wanted nothing more than to slam into her with full force. But he refrained, making sure to take things at her own pace. 

This time, at least. 

After a long pause, she finally opened her eyes to meet his, her breath shaky and hot against his face. He drew her in for a kiss before raising a brow, “you okay, honey?”

She nodded, “‘S good, so fucking big.”

He chuckled softly, “I know, baby girl. You ready for me to move now?”

She hummed softly in response, giving him the go ahead. She hissed when he started moving, which made him stop immediately. She shook her head, “‘S okay, keep going.”

So, with every fiber of his being, he slowly moved out of her entirely. He took a moment to appreciate the view of his cock, coated in her slick, pressed against her weeping hole. 

“Fuck,” he sighed appreciatively before pressing back into her, moving slightly faster this time. She moaned, to which he responded with, “Taking me so well, baby girl, doing so good for me, yeah?”

“Feels good,” she shuddered out, her skin covered in goosebumps as he slowly fucked her. He hummed in agreement, leaning back and gripping her hips to watch as his cock slid into her before pulling out even slower, his tip tugging on the rim of her hole before he pushed back in. 

The movement of her hand caught his eyes as she brought it to her ribs and ran it slowly down her stomach, bringing it to her pussy where they connected. She moaned at the feeling of his cock pushing in and out of her, throwing her head back and bringing her fingers to her clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive nub.

The sight alone made Joel’s hips stutter, his orgasm already surfacing. This little test of his patience seemed to have turned in the quickest orgasm of his life, and he let out a groan at that thought. 

Just as he was about to pull out completely and try to take it down a notch to prolong his orgasm, her walls squeezed him with all her strength as her orgasm suddenly took over. 

Her fingers stilled against her clit as her thighs began to quiver, her face contorted into an expression of pure ecstasy, her head thrown back against her pillows. 

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groaned, his hips automatically moving at a quicker speed, causing her to moan even louder. “Yeah, baby, fuck... what a good fucking girl,” he said in between thrusts, now fucking into her at a remarkable pace. 

“Where ya want it?” He asked gruffly, his hips sputtering in a chaotic manner. His orgasm was approaching faster than he had anticipated, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and will it to slow down with everything he had. 

“Inside.”

That single word, in her soft-spoken little voice, was enough to bring him over the edge. He groaned a strangled, “fuck,” before burying himself as deep as he could, ropes of cum coating her cervix. 

She couldn’t describe the feeling, in fact she was too overstimulated from her own orgasm to really even process what was happening. Her ears were ringing, her body was on fire, and all she knew was that she had just fucked Joel Miller.

And she was determined to fuck him again. 

After Joel came down from his own high, he slid out of her, causing her to let out a hiss at the friction. He collapsed on the bed next to her, and she automatically rolled onto her side to cuddle against him. 

He hummed, laying his arm down so she could rest her head on his bicep, bringing his other fingers to her chin to bring her into another sweet kiss that was full of a new sense of admiration and dare she say…love?

The two laid there in silence for a while. She ran her fingers back and forth through his greying chest hair as he drew little hearts with his thumb against her hip. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. 

“You okay, darlin’?”

She hummed, her eyes closed and a relaxed smile on her face. 

He’s been your dad’s friend since forever. He’s seen you at every age, every birthday, every holiday. He’s the one who stopped at the store for your favorite snacks on his way to your dads. The one who heard about the boy who kissed you behind the bleachers at eighteen— and the one who noticed when there weren’t any other boys after that.

He’s always known you were good. Not just sweet to your father, but good: the way you blushed, the way you carried yourself. Joel never asked, never needed to. He could tell. Virgin. Untouched. That’s why sometimes his glances lingered too long, why he let his eyes drop to the swell of your tits when you leaned over, why he’d look away quick but not quick enough. Because he couldn’t really believe that you were one. How could you be one when you were that beautiful?

Your dad laughs like he’s trying to shake the walls down. It runs up the stairs in warm little waves, bourbon-thick and late, Joel’s lower rumble braided through it. You brush your teeth with the bathroom fan humming, stare at your face a little too long—flushed from the heat, from the noise, from the particular way Joel’s voice sticks to the skin—then kill the light and pad down the hall.

Your room is cooler. Quiet. The faint thud of ice in glasses below. You tug an old tee down over your bare legs and fold yourself into the bed. Friday nights like this usually end the same way: your dad pours too much, Joel refuses the drive across town, takes the guest room, locks the door, the house sleeps.

But you can’t. Not with the echo of Joel’s yes sir and no sir and the soft-fond way he told your dad, You always were a mean drunk, James, and the care in it, and the way he looked at you earlier, not at you, not really, but past you, like it hurt him to let his eyes sit there for too long.

You roll to your back and watch the ceiling and let your thighs slide together. It’s been bad lately—the restlessness. The canopy of summer heat, the way every brush of fabric feels like a secret. You think about his hands (wide, blunt fingers, scuffed knuckles that know a wrench from memory) and you immediately shove the thought away like you’re shooing a fly.

The house creaks. The voices go slower. A chair scrapes. Their footsteps on the stairs—your father’s heavier, the stumble that means he’ll be asleep in five. Joel’s comes after, careful, the way he is, like he worries about waking the house even when no one’s sleeping yet. Your door is mostly shut, the guest room two down from yours. His shadow cuts the hall for a second, then the latch clicks and—quiet.

You try to think about something else. You try to think about nothing at all. You kick the blanket to your knees, drag it back up, throw an arm across your eyes, shift, sigh, ache.

Eventually the hand that’s been pretending to just adjust the hem of your shirt stops pretending.

You slide your fingers under cotton and find yourself like you always do: hesitant, tentative, circling where it seems to help, too light or too fast or both. You know how to take the edge off. You don’t know how to do it right. Every time you think you’ve got it, the spark scatters and you’re back at the start, frustrated and hot and too aware of your own heartbeat.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making sound. It’s not like anyone would hear. Still.

Down the hall, Joel lies on his back in the guest room and stares at the faint square of streetlight at the window and tells himself to sleep. He’s good at telling himself things. He’s good at should and don’t and leave it alone. Tonight, none of it sticks.

He hears it before he knows what it is. A soft, sharp little sound, cut off quick. Instinct makes him hold his breath. That’s not pipes or wind or the house settling. It happens again—barely there, like a hiccup of a whimper, swallowed as soon as it’s born.

His name isn’t on it. Still, his body recognizes it, some brutal and unkind piece of him already standing at attention like: there.

He’s up before he decides to be. Bare feet on cool wood, palm to the frame when the floor wants to complain. He tells himself he’s going to the kitchen. He tells himself your dad might have left the back door unlatched. He tells himself to turn around.

The slice of your door is thin as a blade. He doesn’t mean to put his eye to it.

He does.

You’re moonlit and messy, sheet trapped at your knees, shirt pushed high, one hand fisted at the collar like you’re trying to hold yourself in place and the other—he swallows—between your legs, fingers clumsy and stubborn. Your mouth is soft-open, lips damp. He’s never heard you make those sounds. He’s never let himself wonder.

He thinks he’ll back away. He doesn’t. He leans his shoulder to the wood like it can hold him up.

Wrong, he thinks. Every bell in his head clanging. Jesus, wrong. Turn around. Go back to bed. Close your eyes.

You gasp a little when your fingers catch right. He catches himself groaning under his breath, so low it hurts.

And then you turn your head just enough and see him. Not his face—just the bulk of him, the outline at the crack, the weight of him in your doorway like a craving you didn’t order but got anyway.

The noise you make isn’t loud. It might as well be a gunshot. What the hell was he doing there?

“Joel—”

It’s all you manage. He expects the next part to be go. He expects no. He expects the angry, righteous version of you that has every right to exist. None of it happens.

He opens the door instead. Steps inside. Soft click behind him.

The room shrinks around him. He doesn’t come all the way to the bed at first. He gives himself a second to see you properly and you watch him have to take it: throat working, jaw clenched, hands flexing like they don’t know what to do.

If you tell me to leave, I will, he doesn’t say. If you say stop, it’s done, he doesn’t say. It shows anyway—tight in his shoulders, careful in the way he stands there and waits.

You can feel your pulse in your mouth. “I… I didn’t hear you.”

“I know.” His voice is so low it feels like another body in the room. “Door was open.”

You swallow. “Are you… okay?”

His mouth tips, nothing like a smile. “Not the word I’d use.”

“What word then?”

He finally lets himself move. He comes to the side of your bed and sinks to the mattress like he’s afraid to make the springs talk. Up close he smells like clean sweat and old soap and the echo of bourbon on someone else’s breath. He puts his hand on the quilt and not on you, and it takes every atom of your self-control not to nudge your hip into his knuckles.

“Show me,” he says, and the way he says it makes whatever shame was scurrying around your ribcage go silent. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Heat stamps under your skin. “Joel, I—”

“If you don’t want me here,” he says, careful, measured, “say the word and I’m gone. I mean that.” His eyes find yours and hold. “But if you keep me in this room, baby, you do what I tell you. You hear me?”

The last gasp of panic tries to get a foothold and fails. You hold his look and nod, faint as a breath. “I hear you.”

“Words,” he says. It’s not harsh. It lands like a hand on the back of your neck, centering. “Say it.”

“I want you here,” you say, voice small and steadying as it goes. “I want you to watch.”

Something in his face flinches, like you hit him with it. It smooths to resolve.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the way he praises you for that little obedience flips a switch you didn’t know you had. “Hands where they were.”

You drag your palm down, under the hem, shyer now that he’s watching, but you do it. He watches your fingers try the same circle you’ve been making for months, that prickly almost-pleasure that always runs away when you chase it too fast.

His brow pulls. He shakes his head once. “Mm-mm. You’re not doin’ it right.”

“I—It’s how I…”

“Yeah,” he says, soft, not mocking, “I can tell. Won’t get you where you want to go doin’ it like that.”

Your cheeks burn. You want to hide. You don’t. “Then… show me.”

He exhales like you just told him he’s going to live. He slips his hand under the blanket, rests it light on your inner thigh. Just weight, just heat. You shiver anyway.

“First thing,” he says, sliding his fingers up slow until they meet the crease where your leg and hip join, “you don’t rush it.” His calluses whisper the path, lingering, making nothing out of you until you’re shaking with it. “You think you want this”—he ghosts across your clit and you gasp—“so you mash at it and it runs from you. Don’t chase. Invite it.”

“I—how?”

“Let me.” He looks up at you like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and then it feels like not-enough, and you push up on your elbows and say it like you mean it. “Yes, Joel. Please touch me.”

The sound he makes belongs in the dark. “You ask so damn sweet.”

He eases your hand away. His replaces it. He doesn’t go straight for where you want him; he skates around, between, slides through wet and hums low like he can taste you just from his fingers. He circles, lazy-sure, and presses down so faintly you could cry.

“That’s it,” he says when your hips roll to find more. “Let it ask.”

“Ask?” You can’t help the little laugh in the word, dizzy with nerves and want.

“Your body’ll tell me what it needs. I’m listenin’.” He drags in tighter circles and watches your mouth fall open, watches your chest lift, watches your thighs try to clamp around his wrist. “Keep ‘em open.”

You try to relax them. He rewards you with a little more pressure, just enough to make your eyes flutter.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then gives you a command in the same breath like a tide turning. “Slower. Breathe with it.”

You match your breath to the way he moves you. He chases the breath with rhythm, spirals you outward and back again until you’re hot everywhere and the bed feels too small.

Then his fingers slide down, not inside, not yet. He teases your entrance with the pads and the slick sound he pulls from you makes his head drop. His chest rises against the mattress edge like he’s swallowing his own moan to keep it quiet.

“Joel—”

“I know, baby.” He strokes up again, circles, down again, and each pass makes the one after feel better until you’re twitching under his hand. “You’re doin’ good. Let me… yeah. Right there. Don’t run.”

You don’t. You try. You’re trying so hard you forget to be shy. You arch into it and whimper and he murmurs, “That’s it,” like each little sound is something he asked for and got.

“Gonna show you something,” he says, and you nod, dazed. “Gotta ask again, though. Let me inside?”

You blink at him, dizzy on the precipice. “W–Will it—”

“Just my fingers,” he assures, eyes gentled. “Not gonna take anything from you except what you wanna give.”

You nod. “Yes.” Then again, stronger. “Yes.”

He presses one finger in slow, careful as surgery. You go wide-eyed at the stretch—new, odd, so much and somehow not enough. He pauses, knuckles barely slipped past the first kiss of you, and waits. The burn melts to a full, glowy pressure. Your jaw unclenches. You exhale.

“Good girl,” he praises, and sinks the rest of the way with a groan that he bites off halfway. “Tight little thing.”

The words shouldn’t make your stomach drop the way they do. They do.

He curls, patient, teaching you the shape of him. He finds a rhythm that doesn’t scare your muscles; long, slow, learning strokes that make you gasp at places inside you you didn’t know existed. He keeps his thumb gentle on your clit—enough to keep the hum alive, not enough to tip you too soon.

Then he adds the second finger, and your hands fly to his forearm on instinct. He’s so thick there, so solid; you hold on like he’s going to take you somewhere you won’t be able to walk on your own.

“Eyes on me,” he says, and when you fight to open them he’s already looking, already there. “Don’t you look away when I make you feel good. Want you to see it.”

You breathe like you’re learning how. “Okay.”

He gives you the curve again, that curl at the front wall with the pad of his finger dragging perfect, and you choke on it.

“That’s the place,” he tells you, voice rough. “You feel that? That’s mine now.” He presses again and you make a helpless little noise that earns you a quick, ragged laugh in the back of his throat. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Your legs shake. The bed squeaks once, loud enough to make panic crackle between your ribs. Joel goes suddenly still, his whole body listening. Down the hall: silence. A deep, freighted snore from your father. Nothing else.

Joel’s shoulders drop. The hand not inside you moves, smoothing your hip, and you’re shocked by how tender the gesture feels.

“Breathe,” he whispers, eyes back on yours. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.” The tiny sound you make trying to say yes is embarrassing. He looks like he could drink it.

“Gonna make you come,” he says, like a vow he has never broken, “and you’re gonna ride it, not run, and you’re gonna say thank you after, because I taught you and I’m real proud of how good you listen. Understand me?”

It’s so dirty it makes another pulse of heat wash through you. “Yes, sir.”

The word hits him like a hand. His jaw loosens and for a beat he looks stunned, then something mean-sweet flickers behind his eyes and his mouth crooks and he speeds his thumb a hair and curls his fingers just so and you—break.

It’s not like before. It’s not like anything. It’s bright and shaking and you feel it in your belly and your throat and the soles of your feet; you clutch his arm and sob out a muffled sound you’ve never heard yourself make. He keeps you there. He keeps you there. He talks you through it like a man with both hands on the wheel driving you out of a storm.

“That’s it, that’s it, look at me, that’s my girl—don’t hide your eyes—fuck, you’re so pretty—there you go, ride it out, ride it—good, good, good—”

When you come down you realize you’re panting, damp hair sticking to your forehead. He hasn’t moved his fingers yet; he’s watching you carefully, the kind of careful that reads as respect. When your body stops flinching around him, he slides them out slow.

You whimper at the emptiness. He swallows like it takes effort, like he wants to put them back because you want him to.

He looks at his hand like it’s not his. Then he lifts his gaze and something flares. He shifts, drops to his knees at the side of the bed like prayer.

“Joel,” you say, weak, already falling.

“Gonna taste you,” he says. He doesn’t move an inch until you nod. “Say I can.”

“You can,” you whisper. “Please.”

He fits himself between your knees and nudges them wide with his shoulders and drawers a hot, wrecked breath over you that makes you jump. And then he puts his mouth on you, open and slow and reverent in a way that feels like a lie coming out of a man that dirty, except it’s not; it’s real, it’s his tongue and his lips and the soft hum he makes when he finds where you’re sensitive now that you’ve come once.

He eats like a man who built the table. He uses his mouth like he’s been dying of a thirst he has to hide and now he’s alone with the well. He flattens his tongue and licks you like he’s laying paint, broad and sure. He focuses where you need, then leaves it and you whine and he comes back with a chuckle that slides into a groan.

“Sweet,” he mutters into you. “Goddamn.”

Your hands go to his hair and then stop midair because you don’t know if you’re allowed. He saves you from the uncertainty by catching your wrists and planting them on his head.

“Hold me,” he orders, voice muffled, and you do. He moans like you did him a kindness.

He teases you to the edge again and when you start to climb he changes his touch, gentler for a moment, letting you settle before he builds you back up. You realize he’s teaching you—what it feels like when it’s too much too fast, how to breathe through it, how to ask for more. He hums a question into you.

“More,” you gasp. “Please—more.”

“Good girl,” he says, and gives it.

The second time is quieter, deeper. Your hips roll to his mouth, your hands flex in his hair, tugging and pulling, and he anchors you with one arm slung over your thigh and belly at the same time, keeping you open for him, keeping you honest. You feel him groan against your skin and the vibration pushes you right over. You go wet and soft and shaking and he tongues you through it, patient, lazily greedy, like he’ll be here as long as you need.

You twitch when you’re too tender. He eases off, kisses the inside of your thigh—just once, soft, the press of a mouth that shouldn’t be where it is—and rises. He braces a forearm on the mattress and breathes, eyes shut like he just walked out of a storm and needs a second to recognize the road.

You’re staring at his mouth when he opens his eyes—wet, slicked with you, and he licks the taste away and looks pained with how much he loves it. The thick bulge pressed awkwardly against his fly is impossible to ignore; he’s hard, he’s been hard, and he’s not once touched himself.

“Does it… hurt?” you whisper, staring before you can stop yourself.

He huffs out something like a laugh and like a curse. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Joel…”

“Don’t you worry about me,” he says, soft but stern. “This was about you.”

You flush. It feels like a gift you don’t know how to carry. “I… thank you.”

His eyes close. It humbles him. It kills him. He swallows and nods like you just knighted him.

“Say it again,” he asks, hoarse.

“Thank you,” you say, and it lands in the room like a secret you both promised to keep.

He reaches for the hem of your shirt and eases it down, careful, modest now that he’s ruined you. He tugs the blanket over your hips. He doesn’t kiss your forehead, though you can feel him want to; he puts his palm to the sheet at your hip instead, warm through the cotton, a stand-in for a softness he isn’t allowed.

“Listen to me,” he says, and his voice is back to that guiding tone that made your body obey. “Next time you touch yourself, you’re gonna be patient with it. You’re gonna breathe like I showed you. You’re gonna go soft at first, then press, then back off. When you feel it building too fast, you’ll slow. You’ll ride it. You’ll think about my hand and how I did it. You’ll think about my mouth. You’ll think about me tellin’ you how.”

You can’t do anything but nod. You’ll think about me. As if you hadn’t been already.

“And you’ll keep your eyes open,” he adds, gentler. “Even if I’m not there.”

You whisper, “Yes.”

He stands like it hurts. It probably does. He looks at you long enough to burn a silhouette of this into his skull, then finally drags his hand down his face like a man trying to wipe himself clean. He glances at the door, at the hall beyond where your father sleeps.

“I shouldn’t have come in here,” he says, not apologizing, just stating a true thing he hates. “But I’d do it again.”

He turns. His hand hits the doorknob and pauses. “If you need me to stop comin’ round—if you feel different tomorrow—you say it, and I will. I’ll make excuses your dad’ll believe.”

You sit up on your elbows and the world teeters and rights itself. “Don’t make excuses,” you say, and it’s not brave, it’s just honest. “I don’t want you to.”

He groans like you pulled the stitch. “You’re so good.” It kills him. Truly.

“I—”

His hand lifts. “Don’t. Don’t say more. That’s enough to get me through the night.”

He slips out and draws the door nearly shut, the slim gap he first looked through gone. You lie there in the hush, pulse loud as a radio, his scent in your sheets like a bruise.

Down the hall, Joel closes the guest room door and stands with his back to it like somebody might try to break it down. He breathes until his heart quits trying to leave his chest. He puts his palm over himself and winces, not because he’s delicate but because he’s been holding the line until it cut him.

He tells himself not to think of your sounds. He fails. He tells himself not to think about the way you said sir like it belonged to him and to you and to that room and to nobody else. He fails worse.

He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands and laughs once, quiet and broken, at the version of himself with a steady jaw who used to believe you could turn away from everything you want and live. Then he gets up, goes to the sink, fills a glass, gulps it, empties it, runs the faucet until the pipes knock, waits for silence again.

When he climbs into bed, he shuts his eyes and sees how you looked looking back. Opens them, sees the blank ceiling. Shuts them again, finds you anyway. He breathes through it. He bites down on his knuckle to keep from saying your name out loud. He takes what hurts and makes it his.

You lie awake and do as you were told: breathe, don’t chase, be patient with the feeling that rolls through you like a tide still dragging you toward him. When you finally drift, the last thing you know is not guilt or fear but the remembered weight of his palm through the sheet, the firmness of his voice when he told you what to do, the soft-proud way he said good girl like it was the first true thing anyone had given you in months.

Morning will come and make everything ordinary again. Doors will open, coffee will brew, your dad will say Christ, my head, and Joel will answer Yeah, well, that’s what you get, and he’ll rinse a mug and not look at you for three whole minutes like it’s penance, and then he’ll look and the world will tilt the same way it just did. None of that is now. Now is the hush after the tide, the ache and the glow and the lesson set in your skin.

Now is the part where you close your eyes and keep them open, both at once, and learn what it means to remember with your body.

note: i’m ovulating. okay? tend to push out a bit more joel smut when i’m this way…. lord help me. this is gonna have three parts by the way. and of course, maybe some drabbles if i wanna revisit these two. but omg i write way too much. i like to have easier things when i’m having a bit of writers block on some of my series. it helps get the creative juices flowing. i might just pile up a few in the drafts and post them throughout the remainder of the year because this is way too much. you guys, i literally stay up all night writing. someone take my device from me. this isn’t healthy!! but i love it. shhh!

The creak of his boots echoed from the side of the barn as he repaired the gate hinges. A few days ago, it was the broken heater in the art room. Before that, the fencing near the stables. He was the kind of man who did not like to sit still, and Jackson had plenty of things to keep him going. He liked helping around, and it made him feel needed. 

You didn’t mean to notice him every single time. Your eyes just naturally averted to him, every time. At first it was small things.. how he always showed up early in the morning. How he talked to people with that low, Texas drawl, with kindness, and sometimes a little grumpy. It was clear he cared deeply about doing things right. 

His rolled up sleeves, the grunts he made when he was moving, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating … it was all too much. He did everything so well, no neighbor ever complained. Every time you saw him with a tool in his hand, or a smudge of grease on his forearm, something inside you twisted. It started as a quite ache, one you could ignore if you distracted yourself enough. But the more you saw him, the worse it got. 

And you… you were a virgin. Growing up in the apocalypse and all, you never really had the chance to get to know someone that intimately, besides, you were very comfortable with your own sexuality, taking care of yourself, and you were quite satisfied. Boys had thrown themselves at you before, but you weren’t into guys your age, immature and inexperienced. You always liked them a bit older, more experienced. You had a thing for competency, and men like him who were good at what they did. blue collar, broad-shouldered, good with their hands. Men who smelled like whiskey, sweat, and knew how to fix shit other people couldn’t. Joel, with that salt and pepper hair and his worn button-ups, the way he moved, was turning you on. You couldn’t look at him without your breath catching and sweat clinging to your forehead, without heat crawling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop thinking about your first time being with him, how protective he’d be, and how good he’d take care of you.

You didn’t live super close to him, but the universe clearly had other plans, because somehow your errands aligned with where he happened to be. And always, he’d greet you. 

Just a “hey”. Simple, and casual. Too casual for the way heat pooled between your legs every single time. You try to keep it cool, offer a quick smile, or a nod, but your words never come out the way you want them. If he had any idea how tightly you had to clench your jaw every time he walked by, he sure as hell didn’t show it. 

He had no idea what he was doing to you. As far as Joel was concerned, you were just another friendly face in town. You were kind to him, sweet even, traded coffee for paint supplies, but you never stayed long enough to hold a conversation. Joel figured maybe he made you didn’t like him, that you, maybe you just weren’t the talkative type. 

He usually worn button-ups, long sleeves rolled up. But with the seasons shifting and the sun hanging higher, he was showing up in tight t-shirts that left little to the imagination. The fabric hugged his arms just right, tracing every muscle and vein, and it was impossible to imagine what those hands could do if they weren’t busy fixing shit. One time, he reached to grab something from a top cabinet, and with his arms stretched high, you caught a perfect glimpse of his waist. The way his shirt rode up just enough to reveal his happy trail leading down, and the waistband of his boxers. It made you feral.

Every night, you thought about him. What his huge hands might feel like. What his calloused fingers would feel like on your body. How his grunts might sound like if he was on top of you, whispering something low and filthy in your ear. Late at night, you let your thoughts slip where they shouldn’t. Under the covers, imagining what it would feel like to have someone there- Joel, instead of your own fingers, moaning and whimpering his name, hoping one day he would just magically show up and fuck you senseless. 

One afternoon, you told yourself you weren’t going to do anything stupid. But it was a hot spring evening, you had two glasses of wine, maybe three, and it was just enough to make you feel courageous. Or reckless. Tipsy, that made your skin feel too hot, your clothes too tight, and your underwear soaked. You didn’t let yourself think it through. You just walked down the street, heart pounding and thighs pressed tight, wearing a top that accentuated your breasts & an old fashioned lie. and knocked on Joel’s door. You told yourself it was innocent. A neighborly thing.  

He answered the door in a t-shirt. Collar a little stretched, fabric clinging to his biceps. You had to force your eyes to stay on his face.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathier than what you meant. “S-Sorry to bug you. I just-uh… my sink’s acting real funny. The one in the kitchen.”

The kitchen sink was fine.

Joel wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s it doin’?”

You shrugged, toying with the straps of your shirt. “Leaking. Making a sound. I dunno.” you said nervously. 

“I can swing by tomorrow,” he said, nodding.

You licked your lips. “I’ll uh…. I’ll leave the door unlocked. In case I’m out. So you just let yourself in.”

Joel’s brow ticked. “You leavin’ your door open for just anyone, darlin’?”

Your heart stuttered. Was he flirting with you? “Uh… no, no.”

He smiled, “I’m just jokin’.” He clapped his hands. “Alright then, I’ll uh.. see ya tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, you turned around and walked back home, your heart about to rip open your chest.  

The next day crept up slowly. You woke up flushed, replaying yesterday’s interaction in your mind like a dream. 

You told yourself not to get too worked up. Not to overthink it. But by mid-afternoon, you were restless. The house felt too warm, your skin even warmer. You kept checking the clock, hoping his knock might come any second. 

And when it didn’t, you grabbed the wine bottle. To cool you down, ofcourse. To calm your nerves. You’d left the door unlocked like you promised him. Just a crack, enough for him to step inside. The kitchen sink was fine. Didn’t need any fixing. But your body…? That was another matter.

You wandered upstairs to your room, still leaving the door cracked, restless and a little tipsy from the wine. The fan hummed softly overhead, but it did nothing to cool the heat spreading low in your belly. Your clothes clung to you, damp from the warmth… and your wetness. You ran your hands down the front of your thighs, exhaling a shaky breath as your fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. They felt suffocating. You slid them down your legs slowly, the cotton catching slightly on your hips before pooling around your ankles. The air kissed your skin, and you bit the inside of your cheek, goosebumps rising on your legs. 

You sat at the edge of the bed at first, on your back. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shit. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his biceps flexed. His Texas drawl dipped in honey. The way he said your name. 

Your hand drifted over your stomach, skimming lightly, like even your own touch was too much. You didn’t rush, just let your fingertips trace lazy, aimless patterns, dipping lower each time until they reached the waistband of your underwear. There was a steady warmth pulsing at your core, a heat that had been building all day. You let your fingers press down, through the thin fabric, catching your breath at the feeling. You were already so sensitive, so wound up from hours of wanting, of imagining him. You were pretending your hands were his, touching you like this for the first time. You shifted against the sheets, chasing friction, letting your hips tilt just enough to press into your own hand. It was slow at first, knowing your body too damn well, until you started to rub your clit in small circles and gasping softly, your mouth falling open. 

-

Joel told himself he’d swing by later in the afternoon, but something about the way you looked at him yesterday.. the wine flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers played with your shirt straps… He was confused. He was old. Surely, he didn’t think you were flirting with him. Why would someone so pretty, want someone like him? 

The door was exactly as you left it. Unlocked, cracked open a little bit. He still knocked softly at first.

“Hey,” he called, voice low. “it’s Joel, you home?”

No answer.

So he stepped inside, slow and polite, calling your name softly. And suddenly, he heard it. Faint and breathless.

“Joel.. Oh..”

His heart jumped. You sounded like you were in pain, or crying. The sound of your voice had him moving before he could think. He dropped his tools, boots thudding against the stairs, every protective instinct in him lighting up. Another soft moan. “Oh God...”

He didn’t wait. “Darlin,? You alright?” He pushed the door open with his shoulder, chest tight, eyes scanning …. Until he saw you. laying back against the sheets, legs spread, hand between your thighs. Your shorts discarded on the floor. 

You froze. 

Joel froze too.

He wasn't dumb. He caught on what was happening immediately.

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, locked on yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence was thick. 

You sat up in panic, putting your shorts back on. “I-I thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered. 

He looked dazed. He swallowed hard. Took one step closer.

“You left the door open,” he said quietly. “Said I could come in.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” You whispered, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. “Joel, I didn’t think you’d—”

He nodded once, firm, eyes still on you. “You say my name like that all the time when you’re alone?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took another step. “I came to fix the sink, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something rough and warm, “but I think we’ve got somethin’ else that needs my attention.” You swallowed hard, heart hammering like it might break through your ribs. 

Your fingers were still trembling from earlier. From the way you’d whispered his name like a fucking prayer. And now he was here. Real. Solid. Broad shoulders taking up half the space in the room.

You felt small. Exposed. And yet… your body ached for him.

Joel’s eyes dragged down your frame, slow and deliberate. His jaw ticked.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t know you… felt that way about me.” He swallowed. “I wasn’t supposed to see that.” 

Your back straightened, chest still heaving. “Well, I do.” You blinked. “Joel, you should probably just go,” you stammered, voice shaky. You started rambling under your breath, words tumbling over each other like a flood. “I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, Joel. The sink doesn’t even need fixing. I mean, what was I thinking? I just wanted to see you, like some fuckass teenager with a crush. You don’t even like me like that.” You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his eyes, heart pounding loud in your ears.

Joel shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Darlin’, calm down. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, eyes soft. “I… like you, I’m just surprised,’s all,”

You opened your mouth, words caught in your throat. “I had too much wine. I just need a minute, okay? I’m overwhelmed” 

He nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll head home, okay?” His voice was low, unsure, like he wasn’t quite sure on how to act after that, and neither did you. He slipped quietly without another word. Did you just fuck everything up?

The next day, there was a knock on your door. 

Joel stood there, hand on the back of his head. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I…come in for a sec?”

You smiled and stepped aside, still mortified from yesterday. 

He glanced around like he was gathering his thoughts, then finally looked at you. “I been thinkin’ about what happened yesterday.”

You blinked at him, cheeks heating up. Talk about the elephant in the room.  “What do you mean?”

Joel let out a slow breath. “I wanted to apologize. You were embarrassed. Thought I didn’t… want you like that.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

He continued, gently, “I didn’t mean to walk in on somethin’ so personal. I swear, I only came in ’cause I thought you were hurt. You sounded like you were in pain, and the door was open, and.. I’m sorry.”

You chewed your lip. “Joel, you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault, I should have closed the door.” You sighed. “I didn’t mean to make things weird”

“Nothing’s weird,” he said. “I just.. Jesus, I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around it, ‘cause you’re…” he trailed off, eyes on yours, voice soft. “You’re beautiful, and young. I don’t know how in the world you would want someone like me.”

You stared at him. Your heart was thudding in your chest, heat creeping up your neck, wanting to tell him that you’re a virgin and just blurting it out. “I’ve never… had sex.” Your voice barely carried, but it felt like the loudest thing in the room. “I just wanted you to know.” You paused, cheeks burning, then forced the next part out. “I guess... I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I just want to get it over with, with someone more experienced, you know. To know what it feels like. So, um. That’s what I was thinking about. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Joel blinked, his gaze holding yours, unreadable for a second. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back to yours, voice rough, blurting out a confession himself too. “I thought about you too, last night.”

You blinked, confused. “what?”

His breath hitched. A humorless little laugh left him as he shook his head. “Couldn’t get the image outta my head. We’re even now. Ain’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. “are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

His voice was low, thick with something darker, more vulnerable. “No.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t move. So you kissed him. 

When Joel kissed you back, it was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, rough palms dragging over your back like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. Your fingers tangled in his soft curls at the back of his head, tugging him closer, swallowing the low groan he let out when you parted your lips for him. You whimpered softly into his mouth, pressing your chest to his, needing him even closer. He smelled so good. Like whiskey, and soap, and musk. It invaded your senses, and your brain turned into mush. 

His tongue swept over yours before he broke away to kiss along your jaw, then your neck, open mouthed and breathless. 

“Joel…” you moaned, “Fuck,”

Your knees hit the back of the couch, and the two of you stumbled, breathless and tangled in each other until you fell on top of his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he sank back onto the couch, pulling you down with him. Your legs were straddling him, your hands braced around his neck. Kissing you deeper, his hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, like he was trying to touch every part of you all at once. 

You rocked against him as he groaned into your mouth, hips bucking up just slightly. His mouth found your neck once again as you kept moving against him achingly, feeling the thick press of his erection beneath you, hard and growing. You were so turned on it hurt. 

“Shit,” Joel rasped, gripping your hips, trying to hold you still. “Baby…”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You needed him. But his hands stilled you.

He leaned his forehead against yours, kissing your head, chest rising and falling under your palms. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and steady now, “we gotta slow down.”

You blinked at him with doe eyes, lips still parted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, cupping your cheek. “God, no.” He swallowed, eyes on yours. “It’s just… it’s been a long time. And I want this to be good for you.”

He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You really want this?” he asked, voice quiet.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, barely above a whisper, “Yeah. I do.”

His chest rose and fell against yours, his eyes flickering down to your lips before dragging back up again like he was trying to memorize you.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, slow and unhurried, letting it linger, letting your fingers drift up the back of his neck and into his hair. He exhaled into your mouth, and you felt the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter.

Then, without a word, you reached down and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.

Joel paused, eyes searching yours. But he didn’t stop you.

You lifted the fabric slowly, revealing the scarred, strong lines of his chest. Your fingers brushed over his skin as you pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall somewhere behind the couch.

His breath hitched when you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, soft and reverent. Another to his collarbone. Another just above his heart. He wasn’t used to this.

Joel’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hand coming up to hold the back of your head like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this.

You sat up, heart pounding, and slowly reached for your own shirt. You watched his face as you peeled it over your head. his eyes widened slightly, lips parting, awe written all over him like you were a dream came true.

You took his hands and placed them on your waist, his palms warm and steady. Then you leaned in again, and he kissed you hard, lips sliding to your jaw, down your neck. When his mouth finally reached your chest, your breath caught. he was kissing you there, slow and gentle, like he was learning the shape of your breasts with his mouth.

A soft moan escaped you, hips shifting instinctively in his lap. You felt the heat building again, sharp and overwhelming. Every place he touched felt like it burned.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice breathless, “need you to touch me…”

One of his hands slid down slowly, carefully, finding the edge of your waistband. His fingers brushed your skin, teasing, and you gasped softly. You could feel the heat between your thighs, a growing ache that had only sharpened since the moment he walked through your door.

“I’ve never-” you whispered, barely audible.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you. We don’t gotta rush a damn thing, sweetheart.”

You nodded, heart pounding, eyes locked with his.

“Jesus,” he rasped, resting his forehead against your chest for a second. “You tell me if anything don’t feel right. Any second. You hear me?”

You nodded again, lips brushing against his temple. “Yeah.”

He leaned back just enough to kiss you again, slower this time like you were something delicate, hands trailing up your spine. You arched slightly as you were dry humping on the couch, gasping at the friction between your core and his erection. You stood up, and discarded your shorts on the floor, just your soaked panties covering you.   When you lowered down on his lap again, your fingers found his, guiding his hand between your thighs.

“You can touch me,” you said quietly. “I want you to.”

Joel let out a quiet groan. “You tell me if it feels too much, alright?” he groaned, voice low and full of heat.

His fingers dipped down between your thighs, finding you through the soft fabric of your underwear. He rubbed slow, careful circles against you, patient and steady,  coaxing every sound out of your lips. 

You gasped softly, hips tilting toward his hand without meaning to. “Joel…”

“That feel good?” he rasped, lips brushing your jaw, his voice rough but gentle, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your fingers curled into his hair, holding on as he kept rubbing you through the thin cotton, your arousal soaking through. He could feel how wet you were, even like this.

“Jesus, baby…” he breathed, his voice thick. “You’re already so worked up for me.”

You whimpered as your hips began moving on their own, grinding against the heel of his hand. Joel’s breath caught, he was getting worked up too, chest rising fast, jaw clenched. His free hand slid up your back, gripping your waist like he needed something to hold onto.

He groaned again, almost like it hurt. “You keep movin’ like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

Carefully, he slid his hand beneath your waistband, fingers finally touching you bare. You gasped, the heat of his skin against yours sending a shiver up your spine. Then, ever so gently, he slid one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as you clenched around him. “You’re alright. Atta girl. Just like that,”

You whimpered again, his finger moving in slow strokes, your hips rocking toward his hand instinctively. He added a second finger, easing you open while his thumb stroked soft circles against your clit.

It was overwhelming, in the best way possible. The stretch, the warmth of him, the way he watched your every reaction like he couldn’t look away. This was so different compared to your own fingers. You knew it would feel good, but not like this. Definitely not like this. 

You whimpered, getting closer, reaching the climax as your hips stuttered against his hand. Joel was whispering quiet praises into your skin, fingers moving slow and steady inside you, coaxing you open like he had all the time in the world. Your thighs trembled, your body arching into his touch, and the pressure inside you built with every breathless second.

“Joel,” you whimpered, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, my god…”

“Right there?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. Just let go for me.”

Your body tightened, back arching, and then the wave came over you. your climax washing over you all at once, sharp and warm, overwhelming and dizzying. You gasped, clinging to him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned, holding you through it, kissing your temple and whispering sweet nothings as your body shook against him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowing his fingers as you came down. “You’re alright. I got you.”

You were breathless, body still burning for him, for something more. “Joel… I want to feel you.”

He stilled, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, fingers curled around his wrist. “I want you inside me.”

His gaze searched yours for any flicker of doubt. There wasn’t any. Just need.

He gently guided you off his lap, helping you lie back along the couch. The cushions dipped under you, the living room warm and quiet except for the sound of your shared breathing.

Joel stood for a moment, just looking at you. Then his hands went to his belt, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as he slid his jeans down, then his boxers, breath catching when you caught sight of him, thick, hard, and flushed at the tip. He knelt between your legs, bracing a hand on the couch beside your head, the other guiding himself gently as he settled over you.

You reached for him, touching his chest, then his face, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

Joel hovered over you, breathing heavy, gaze locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single second. He lined himself up slowly, hand cupping the back of your head against the couch cushion like you were something precious.

When he pushed in slow, careful, giving you time to adjust, you both gasped. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging in, and Joel groaned low in his throat, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Oh my god.

Your thoughts spiraled.

This feels so good.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. full, warm, overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t believe how right it felt, how gentle he was, how every slow thrust was lined with care and need.

This. This is why you waited for someone like him. For Joel.

His body pressed flush against yours, one hand bracing by your head, the other still gently cradling it like he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He rocked into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, his breath ragged against your cheek, whispering your name like a prayer.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “Such a good girl.”

You whimpered, already fluttering around him, your body starting to tremble again. “I-I think I’m close again,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, voice cracking as he started to move faster, hips snapping a little deeper now, rougher but still so tender it made your chest ache.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, lips brushing his jaw as your body built toward the edge again. He kept whispering to you, grounding you, worshiping you through every second until everything tightened, and then you broke for the second time.

You came with a cry against his skin, body shaking around him as he groaned loudly, hips stuttering.

“Shit-darlin’, I’m gonna,” Joel gasped, and then you felt him follow, his body trembling with the force of it, buried deep and breathless. It was intense. 

Joel was still above you, calming down his breathing, foreheads pressed together, your bodies tangled and slick with heat. His hand was still cradling your head. 

You could still feel the aftershocks in your thighs, your chest, the gentle tremble in your fingers. Your heart was hammering. You’ve had orgasms before. You touched yourself often. But this was something else. You’ve never had this kind of orgasm before. Every careful touch, every word, every look… he'd made you feel safe. Worshipped. Taken care of.

You blinked up at him through the haze, and he looked down at you like he was in awe.

“You alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed. “Mmmm.”

He exhaled softly, lips brushing your temple, and kissed it. Then your cheek. Then your mouth…slow, like he had all the time in the world now.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said against your lips.

You didn’t protest when he gently pulled out, made quick work of cleaning you up as best he could with trembling hands and soft apologies, finding a blanket from your couch to wrap you in.

Then, like it was nothing,he lifted you into his arms. You curled against him instinctively, head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing.

Your bedroom was dim, bed undone, but it didn’t matter. Joel set you down carefully, then climbed in beside you without a word. One of his arms slid beneath your head, pulling you close, his other hand resting lightly on your stomach beneath the blanket.

You sighed, melting into him.

For a while, neither of you said a thing. Just breathing. Just feeling. His thumb traced lazy little circles against your skin, and you let your eyes drift shut.

thanku for reading!

You felt grown when you were pursuing Joel. A dirty albeit grown, adult girl.

But now? You felt anything but that.

Joel.

Joel dad’s-best-friend-Joel. Uncle Joel. Your old man, Joel. Your dad’s buddy, Joel — beer buddy Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.

Fuck. Joel? Really?

It started with a look. A volatile little smile on your birthday — your pink frilled cake, sticky vanilla frosting, and eighteen teensy candles glaring. Holding eye contact with him for far too long to be considered friendly; hoping he’d catch your gaze to see what was written all over your face. “I’m legal, Joel.” Joel was never stupid. In fact, he was always too observant for your liking. Catching you guilty-as-charged on your porch and knowing you just smoked your first joint. Or finding you drinking his beer at an ungodly hour and somehow placing it immediately to your impending graduation. Your least favorite: your red eyes, and Joel’s hug following suit — you and your dad were fighting, Joel figured.

He knew you were a good girl. Really, Joel knew the purity of your nature better than you’d observed yourself. Your peeking lace, flirty little smiles and that awful pout you developed after your first semester at college never fooled him. Nope, not one bit.

Joel knew you were a virgin. You were a nervous thing. Always have been, always will be. It’s in your nature, he’s decided. It’s your biological coding. Knew it since you were just a girl. You were the same with boys your age; hiding at the adult table instead of mingling and doing who-know’s-what with boys like the ‘Felder’s’ eldest son or worse, that punk Scott. Not that he thought of you in that way yet, but it was just something he observed. Your meekness. Your quiet demeanor. The way you were totally uninterested in boys in such a way that your own mother began to worry. “You know, at her age? I was onto my seventh boyfriend. Seventh! These kids are living in a different age, I suppose.”

So imagine Joel’s surprise pulling up to the bar that night to see sweet thing you: pressed against a brick wall, leg wrapped around some loser with your hand tangled in his hair?

Maybe it was his fault to blame. Snooping where he didn’t belong. He knew you would be here. In fact, he had, yes, admittedly followed you to the very bar you’re stood outside of.

But could you blame him?

You’re his responsibility. Your father’s only daughter, his best buddy’s only child, now under his care while you were home for the holidays. It doesn’t matter how old you are. That you’re “an adult”, as you keep reminding him, or that you “know what you want.” You aren’t old enough to know any better, he’s surmised, but Joel does — for you. Joel is sure you must have been as equally disturbed upon seeing him. If not more. He isn’t subtle about it. He doesn’t wait for you to finish whatever the hell you were trying to start. He simply slams his truck door shut — half surprised the red herring of his faulty engine hadn’t sent you running, knowing you could tell when Joel was over just from the sound of it creaking into your drive away. But, alas, you’re occupied. He marches as silent as the still air outside toward the outline of your silhouette, where you’re shielded by this…. stranger, this random boy, this—

Joel fishes in his pocket and shines his flashlight on the both of you.

You’re the first to pull away. You jolt as you snap your head up toward Joel with wide-eyes, your doe eyes illuminated in the white harsh exposition of his flashlight.

“Fuckin’ hell.” This was a scene that could kill a man. You — good grades you, star pupil you, sorority chair member and babysitter you — barely dressed in your white babydoll and fucking bunny ears. And how ironic is it that you, caught in a disgusting act, gawk at him with faux innocence; donned in lacey white to match the part. And he would’ve sought you fit for it too, if not for your swollen lips and the smudge of lipstick on your chin. Not to mention the random boy currently swearing at your side.

“Get your ass inside. And don’t make me repeat myself. You hear me?” you hesitate for a moment — still wide-eyed and still frozen under the horrible blaring glare of his hand held torch. You’ve never felt so dirty and vulnerable in your entire life. Joel growls a deep exhale and shines the light closer toward your face, blinding you and causing you to stumble back against the cold wall behind you. “You fuckin’ hear me? Scram, kid. Inside. Now.” And you know he isn’t playing any games when he begins to count.

“One….two…” you run into the bar with your hand hovering behind your ass as though you were some child nervously escaping a spanking. You would laugh at yourself if you weren’t so frozen in an all consumable humiliation. Joel has half the mind to slap the kid that was just eating your face off but he regresses. He knows it wasn’t the boys fault; if anything, it was more likely yours. While he held your good girl disposition near and dear to his heart, he had noticed your recent rebelling streak.

It was unnatural and awkward. Coming in the form of wearing dresses so short that you couldn’t even jump out his truck without flashing him; copious frills of red or pink or his personal hell, white, and he couldn’t stand it. He wondered if college had taken the dear girl he watched you grow into only to snatch you away and morph you into a lady. A femme fatale. Seductress. Promiscuous like your sorority sisters. But, no — you were still shy as ever at neighborhood barbecues and still ignoring Scott Felder with the same fervor you had when you were seventeen. And so to see you like this? He hadn’t a clue what to do with you.

It could’ve been ten or twenty or even thirty minutes, you weren’t sure, but finally, you hear that unmistakable noise of heavy toed boots clang against the bar floor, and there he is. Making an appearance after all. For a moment, you were scared he had stranded you here. Or, worse, called your father.

But instead, Joel locks his sight on you and slowly approaches. It isn’t hard. With your ridiculous costume ears still perched on your head. He pulls out the bar stool next to you and immediately waves down the bartender.

He keeps a tab open. You sit in silence as he nurses his second beer, listening to the screeching noise of his obnoxiously loud sighs as you’re sat shaking on the grimy bar stool beside him. Waiting for something. Anything. A shake of his head. A snarl. You’re even finding yourself pleading for his dreaded lectures. But, alas, he only sits there. Wordless and your stomach churns in anticipation for when his fuse finally implodes. It ignites slowly. A small, subtle look your way. Disappointment. Burning hot and sparking clear as day on his face. Then, and you couldn’t ever predict what he would say, but he meets your eye and mumbles: “And here I was, thinkin’ you were a virgin.” You would say Joel has been a pretty consistent figure in your life. He’s just been there. You can’t ever really remember when he came onto the scene or when you started to respect, and equally fear him, more than your own old man. And well, you would say you’ve come to know him pretty well. You like to think you have a firm understanding of his attitude. You know what makes him temperamental, what he enjoys or doesn’t, observed enough to guess what he would find humorous or instead flat out shun. You know he’s a secret prude. Brave in a way your father never was, chastising you for skirts he deemed too short, “two finger rule, sweetheart, c’mon. You know this.” Blushing when the ‘grownup’ table makes a dirty joke. Usually about his lady of the month. Then lecturing you when he finds you peeping, tutting: “this is a grownup conversation, young lady. Eyes and ears to yourself.” You remember the first time you saw Joel in a new light: condensation dripping down large fingers. That smirk highlighted by handsome lines of age and sun that weathered his skin. Tan flesh and jeans a bit too tight to really fit him properly. That scolding look of his, always pointed your way. But in all your years of knowing Joel, nothing could have ever prepared you for this. Joel Miller who damn nearly had a heart attack when you brought your senior year prom date to greet your father, and Joel — of course. You never knew him to have the gall. The nerve. The obscenity to call you out. “Thought you were a virgin.” You choke on your own spit. Half-laughing-and-half-gasping as you try to squawk a retort that just gets stuck in your throat. He takes a large gulp of his beer. You watch his adam’s apple bob around his sip, stupidly stuttering and now burning in a feverish blush. “What!-what, what…” he peers at you through his peripheral. “Wh-at? So, so— so virgins aren’t allowed to kiss now, is that what, huh?” You are just so defensive. For no good reason; he’s the one who caught you in your indecent act. Though, you don’t deny what he’s said either, and a tiny sick part of himself is slightly relieved — for your dignity, of course. “I ain’t ever know one to kiss like that, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” “O-kay, Joel. How about you try and stay out of my business, and you won’t have to know a damn thing. Does that work for you?” Ouch. Well, look at that. You’re embarrassed. Good, he’s thinking. You should be. You ought to be. But there’s something more, something slightly sinister bubbling below the surface. You’re humiliated, maybe. Pissed at him, even. He’s wondering why you haven’t yet asked him what he was doing at some college bar, but he suspects your unease has you tattered. “Quit bein’ ugly with me, kid. It’s my job to be lookin’ out for you, and I won’t — while you’re under my roof—”

“I’m sorry, under whose roof?—” “Don’t go talkin’ back to me. I won’t have you actin’ this way so long as you’re stayin’ here. You hear me?” You can’t decide whether to laugh or yell at him. “You’re aren’t my father, Joel. It’s not your job to do anything!” Your shame has brought your claws out; hissing and scratching and clawing deep into wounds you have no business deepening. There’s a falter in the beat of the room. A stutter. A sliver of light peeking onto skeletons long hidden inside your closet. You knew it was the wrong thing to say. It felt awkward, somewhat heavy like a lie on your tongue, and the suffocating air weighing heavy between the two of you concede’s that he knows this too. His face reads as surprisingly amused, and you suspect that’s the reason why. You’re just lashing out. Growing pains. All little girls go through this phase. He’s been waiting for this, really.

“Alright.” He groans as he stands up. Arm raising to scratch at his greying scruff and his flannel raises slightly — tan skin exposed, happy trail peeking from above his slacks. “I’m takin’ you home. Your dad ain’t back yet,” you don’t miss how he lingers on that word. Dad. Spitting it at you. “And frankly, I don’t want him seein’ you like…” his eyes rake down your frame and you feel just as exposed as you did under the glare of his flashlight, “this.”

He may as well have gone and called you a whore. You want to lash out and really give him something to be shocked at. Treat him like you do with dear old dad when he tests your patience and see how he likes it.

But really, you’re nervous at how Joel would retaliate. You and your father aren’t afraid to yell; you know that with every argument, while a silent lull may fall for however long it takes, your relationship would eventually return to its flawed resting point. But Joel? — he classes your low points differently. He yearns for the confrontation, because he enjoys the punishment. The lesson in it. You give him an inch? He’ll run it any which way from Tuesday just to turn it into a some sort of paternal marathon. You would call him a sadist if it didn’t mean you would have to acknowledge what that would make you. Really, sometimes, you wonder, if it isn’t the reason him and his own daughter are so distant. Or, rather the reason why she won’t speak to him. You never really saw Sarah growing up, with your age gap, but you could see how Joel’s life motivation could be his very own fatal flaw. He constantly needs, wants, longs to teach teach teach. He knows best. His way is the best way. “Don’t be mad at him,” your father would tell you when Joel first started taking it upon himself to solve your tantrums himself. “You know how it is for him. He’s just bein’ a dad, ‘s all. Saves my ass the trouble, that’s for sure.” You try to remind yourself of this when you and Joel make it back home. Any slight buzz you had lingering is strikingly gone — dissipated completely enough to leave you so sober you’re shaking. From the cold air, or from your repentance, you aren’t sure yet. Joel notices. “You’re shakin’,” he observes, but he doesn’t sound concerned. In fact, there’s that same amused twinge from before. The lesson. He wants you like this, all to teach you. “It’s cold.” You whine, and he sighs at your tone but with a small smirk in tow. Is it cold, or are you stood half-naked in a kitchen where you used to play with your barbies? “C’mon.” He nods his head toward the dimly lit staircase and you follow up behind him as he begins his slow ascend, leading you down the hallway to your bedroom. He turns on your bedside lamp and opens your drawers. Rummaging through them as you stand in the corner, still shaking, until he finds a clean pair of pajamas for you and lays them on your bed. Folding them, neatly. “Get changed.” He mumbles. “I need to — I need to shower, first.” You feel dirty. You’ve felt dirty since you let that boy kiss you outside that awful dive bar. You weren’t even sure why you did. It wasn’t you. He wasn’t even your type. You weren’t half as drunk as you usually get on nights out, but truthfully, it had little to do with the alcohol and more with the nagging voices of your friends and boys you wouldn’t let pursue you on repeat. Taunting you. And for what? Grimy. Bad. Even more so, the moment Joel saw you in that state. “Then shower.” You hoped that the cold water and the harsh rubbing of your skin would clean you of more than just your caked-on makeup. But it doesn’t. You feel just as awful as before, and Joel doesn’t offer you any consolation. He’s as quiet as you are; silent when you meekly pass where he’s perched on the edge of your bed. You fetch the pajamas he had laid for you. And when you remerge, creaking the door open an inch, he’s still there — waiting. Head tilting at the open door when you meet his gaze with a small smile. You continue doing whatever it is you were doing, seemingly spraying something into your hair. Citrus and brown sugar. The smell of you. Fresh, clean, warm, sweet. He should get going now. Really, he’s probably overstayed his welcome. Your father could be back. Sat downstairs, nursing a beer. Watching television. Thinking you’re dead asleep. If he was even wondering that at all. You watch as he lifts from your bed and gingerly wanders toward where you’re spraying all sorts of concoctions into your hair, his frame lurking behind you.

Taller. Brooding. Unsure.

Pausing in the doorway until he’s making eye contact with you in the mirror. He shakes his head, low and disappointed, and tuts at you. Slowly moving toward the other end of the sink before beckoning you over to where he’s stood with a call of his fingers. You follow — barefoot padding across the cold tiles to reach him.

He sighs. Hums, even. Tilting his head at you and scanning his eyes down your expanse like he’s examining you. Wanting to see how sorry you are.

“You don’t have to stay here, Joel. With me. It’s late.” The concept of someone staying up for you, up with you, is foreign. You feel awkward standing across from Joel, unsure how to handle the onslaught of attention; wearing pajama’s he picked out for you and you hate that you’re secretly comforted by even the small semblance of tenderness it holds. “You seein’ that boy?” he finally speaks, and you can’t help but shyly smile and shake your head. “No.” You’re grinning now. Almost giggling. Cheeky. He wants to give your cheek a curt smack and wipe that smile off your face. “No?” He’s smirking back at you. You slowly shake your head. He’s lulled you into thinking that you are equal. That since you are smiling, and he’s smiling, that now you two are playing. But you should know by now — Joel’s never been one to bark without a bite. You step ever so slightly closer to him. You could blame it on shaky legs or that burning taste of tequila still lingering in your mouth, but it’s just you. The bathroom is dimly lit, and Joel’s still smirking, and so he thinks maybe you must be feeling brave. Surely, if you’re being this brazen with him. “I didn’t even know his name.” You whisper. Smiling, still, albeit sheepishly. Beads of water dripping down the expanse of your cheekbones and wet hair clinging to your shoulders. Joel doesn’t say anything.

His expression doesn’t even flinch. He just hooks his ankle behind your calf, causing you to stumble closer to him. You catch yourself before you can fall, making quick balance by placing your palms on his chest. He hums — gently, and ever-so-slowly inches his startlingly large hand out toward you. You can feel him softly catch the droplets trailing their way along your jaw, grazing his knuckles down the edge of the bone.

To your confusion, the head-rush of the moment is dulled by the clanging of miscellaneous items on your counter, until you realize what he’s doing. He’s searching for something.

Digging through your sink caddy before pulling out your — toothbrush? You watch as he squeezes a dime of toothpaste onto its pink bristles. His knuckles are still resting fleetingly along your cheekbones. You would convince yourself that this was your deluded imagination, if not for the jarring sensation of his hand outstretching and covering your entire jawbone in one tight clamp.

Both from the sheer force of his grip, and in a gasp of surprise, your mouth opens and you’re about to retort — Is he really going to?— “Open wide.”

Your effort is useless.

He gives you no warning before almost gagging you on your own toothbrush. Shoving it uncaringly into your mouth, letting the plastic stick clang loudly against your teeth and poke at the plush flesh inside. This is . . . humiliating? You silently pray it’s not spit you can feel slightly dribbling onto the handle of the brush, surely going down his hand, and you whine in embarrassment — it’s muffled in the clumsy attempt of brushing your teeth — and you try to shove his hand away, but he only grips your wrist with the other; absentmindedly bracketing your hips and pressing you against the sharp porcelain digging into your behind.

He laughs at you. “Gotta get you clean,” he tuts, and you burn both with mortification and in the revelation that he must surely now see you as you do yourself. Dirty. Ruined. Once the child, now the inevitable woman. “Joel,” you gurgle, slightly laughing in awkwardness. The mint is causing your eyes to water as you try to shove him harder, with no avail. “Stop.” He catches your wrist once again and presses it hard against your chest. “Be good.” Now this — this is just —

Humiliation. Joel’s never touched you like this. He’s never gripped at you, or ever, ever been rough with you.

Really, now that you really come to think of it, you’ve never much felt the graze of Joel’s flesh against yours.

Sure, you’ve felt his frame against yours in tear-soaked hugs. Or felt the calloused graze of his knuckles when passing you the clandestine beer, or maybe felt the accidental knock of his knee brushing yours in sweaty lawn chairs at neighborhood barbecues. But Joel has always treated you so . . . delicately. Only touching you unless absolutely necessary. Avoiding it, even: his hand hovering above your waist in photographs, rejecting your requests of retying your bikini top, reacting as though you’ve burned him in accidental moments of your body swiping past his. Okay, now? Well this just feels oddly intimate. You must be making it weird. You’ve stopped thrashing and now you’re only sat complacent, blushing. At Joel. You hate the feelings you can feel begin to stir deep in your gut. It’s hot fierce and you’re sure he can see it, or at the very least feel it in your quick pulse. But this is already weird. Joel is brushing your teeth. For you. While laughing like it’s the highest form of entertainment he’s had in all his fifty-so years of living. And — are you shaking? Seriously? Are you that unsure on how to act in the presence of such a man acting as casual as he does during errands? It’s only Joel. But he’s a man, nonetheless. You could count on your one hand the amount of times you’ve ever touched one, and so, yes, you’re shaking. Maybe it’s part adrenaline, too. Your nervous system grappling to accommodate that this is Joel. Touching you so openly, even if it is to manhandle you. His other hand moves from its tight hold on your jaw to create a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pushing your head gently toward the sink

“Spit, honey.” You can barely speak with both the toothpaste swishing in your mouth and between your stifled giggles, toothpaste foam clumisy escaping and now you’re laughing, fully. “There she is. You feelin’ better now?”

“No! You just — you?” You’re hysterical. He snorts at you, secretly relieved to finally see a smile appear on your face after all of your pouting. You’re not off the hook just yet — his seething disappointment still brewing — but the melody of your laughter quells the bitterness even for a little moment. He sighs when you giggle and hide your head in the crook of his neck because this is the little girl that he fondly remembers. Maybe you just needed a reminder, too.

On his flannel collar, you can smell the lingering remainder of the cigarettes he must have snuck out on his lunch break whispering to you. It mixes with the smell of his musk. His natural scent, and a spray of that cologne you could sniff out with a blindfold. Sweet, yet notably masculine — honey melded with boozy tobacco — like that whiskey he stashes below his kitchen sink. Nostalgic in a way that reminds you of summer; Joel’s cigarettes burning the dewy grass of your lawn, sweltering nights spent in his garage, your favorite cherry red ice pops he kept in his freezer just for you, skin sticky with chlorine, cicadas and early dawn, the taste of beers you shouldn’t be having and looks you shouldn’t be giving. You’re sat on the counter, Joel stood between your legs, and as your head tips up, you can recognize the exact second Joel resigns. The moment he remembers who you are to him, and who he is to you.

“Alright. I better, um. I best be to gettin’ sweetheart. I’ll be speakin’ to you in the mornin’, you hear me?” He goes to step backward, away from where you’re sat, away from your pajama clad body. Skimpy and short, too short and he needs to step away from the girl that deep down doesn’t belong to him. Not with his best buddy’s blood running through you. Away from the little girl he’s known for far too long. Your small ankle hooks around his calf.

“Why do we have to wait for the morning?”

He’s stunned. You’ve stunned him. Peering up at him with doe eyes and he’s — he’s shocked.

And intrigued?

“It’s way past your bedtime young lady. And frankly if I stick around, well. . .” he scratches the greying scruff speckling his jaw. He’s as close as he was before. Close enough to where he has to dip his head down to look at you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath.

“Well?”

He sighs, softly, and inches slightly closer. His face is beside your ear now. He drops his voice into a gruff whisper. “I’d say some things I shouldn’t.”

Your eyebrow quirks and the corner of his mouth lifts into a shy smirk. “Not like that, kiddo. It’d be mean. I’d say rude things to you, and I don’t wan’ to. Wanna save it for the morning. Give us a second to cool off, y’know? Take a breather. Go from there.” He pats your shoulder. Joel Miller, always so level-headed.

It’s time to go. Really, it is.

You gnaw your bottom lip between your teeth as Joel begins to tread through your quaint bathroom and toward the door of your bedroom. You should let him go. You shouldn’t say anything else. You’ve already forever changed the trajectory of your relationship with Joel — but in the same sentiment, what is there to lose? “I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle hard conversations.” Even through the dim lighting of your bedroom, lit only by the single glass lamp at your bedside, you can faintly see when Joel’s expression changes.

“Can you? Nearly done scared you off at the bar. Didn’t I?” You watch as it sours, his eyebrows furrowing. You’re beginning to test the little luck you have left for the night, but you’re either willingly ignorant, or simply don’t notice. You push either way.

Stupid, little naive girl. “Because you treat me like a child! You — you never treat me like I’m a grown up. You treat me like I’m still little. Like I’m.” You suck in a sharp inhale. “Like I’m Sa—“

“— Don’t you finish that sentence. Fuckin’ hell. You pitchin’ a hissy fit? Is that what this is? I interrupt your little play date,”

“Oh my—” You really should’ve stopped talking a long time ago. But you can’t seem to find a way to switch this side of yourself off. You’re frustrated — you’re embarrassed, still so abashed and there’s nothing more you want at this moment than comfort; but you don’t deserve that. Definitely not now. You may as well be itching for punishment with the way you’re rambling your mouth at Joel. “Shut it. You shut your mouth.” Joel raises his voice and you flinch. Both in the fear of your father potentially hearing a glimpse into your altercation, but also for you. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, and theres nothing you can do but watch as Joel drags his hands down his face. Sighing and shaking his head before storming up to you. Raising his pointer finger right in your face, his own scrunched and angry. Albeit, he inhales a single shaky breath.

“You’re right. You ain’t Sarah. I failed her. I was too soft with her. Too weak. Too lenient with shit I shouldn’t have been. Too — too goddamn proud. And so help me God, I will not make that same mistake with you. You hear me girl? When I speak, you listen. Goddamnit.” You’re frozen. Stuck in place and somehow the distance between you two has become even shorter. He’s almost breathing down your neck. Seething and huffing with no regard for your space. You don’t know what to say. Choking on a sharp breath that you didn’t even realize you had been holding. “This is — Joel, I’m not… you’re not my… I don’t need you to—”

“What? You wanna be my friend? Is that what you’re askin’ for? For us to be fuckin’ friendly?”

His nose brushes against your own and it’s so beside him, entirely uncharacteristic for him to be this close to you; undeniably too enraged to recognize the lack of distance between you. “Hm?” “No, you’re not listening to me—“

“You keep runnin’ that mouth at me and I’ll show you just where it gets you, little girl.” You’re appealing to the ugliest parts of himself now. Playing right into his game of cat and mouse. The perfect pawn on his chess board. You know all the right buttons to press and you aren’t even sure if you do it unwillingly.

“I’m sorry Joel.” You whisper so quiet and so sweetly that it nearly stops him in his tracks. Almost breaks him from the frustration he feels toward you. Almost. “I know you are babygirl. I know you are…” And for a fleeting moment, you have your Joel back in the room. The Joel you’ve always known. The only person you know that looks at you with starry eyes and protects you like you’re as delicate as fine china. He carefully cups your cheek before sighing, looking down toward the ground in an attempt to recalibrate. To cool off. To get a grip of himself. To act like the adult he is. The role model you deserve. But. . . Have your shorts always been that short? Really — he doesn’t mean to look, his eyes just snagged on a fleeting glimpse of the smooth expanse of your legs, and now he’s perplexed. Why would you even own shorts that tiny? What purpose do they serve? Other than to appease. To appeal. To impress.

‘Two finger rule, sweetheart.’ Joel can feel himself begin to flush; his temper is brewing again. Hadn’t he taught you better than this?

You gulp. “Joel?”

“I know you’re sorry. But sorry ain’t ‘gonna cut it this time, kiddo.”

“No, please don’t—” please, anything but tell your father.

“I think we oughta try some tough love.” “No!—” you scramble toward Joel; reaching out toward him in an attempt to get him to stop. To not go downstairs. To not tattle to that man about your bad behavior. To not bring him into this. But in that same second, Joel hunches over you, grabbing your wrist and pinning it behind the small of your back.

He pulls you against his sturdy chest. Shushing you. Telling you to “be quiet, goddamnit,”tightening his grip on your wrist when you begin to thrash — kicking at him, trying to free yourself from where you’re held against him, “stop being so squirrelly, kid. Stop. The fuck’s gotten into ‘ya?” You don’t stop, too confused and frightened to do anything but flail like a fish out of water; gasping like you were gurgling for air when you feel the sudden force of your body colliding with the solid plush of your bed from below you. You register the pressure first. The immense weight of Joel above you, all broad muscle mass, pinning you with the full heft of his bulk into the mattress. “Stop,” he growls, and you can feel the warmth and softness of his lips graze against the shell of your ear.

The noise and clatter inside your head goes silent — everything coming to a static standstill as you finally take a single slow, albeit wheezed, breath. You quell beneath him. “Good.” He whispers. “Good girl.”

Joel has you bent over the edge of your bed. Joel.

Joel.

“You ain’t gonna like this one bit. I’m sorry, honey. But you gotta learn somehow.” You can’t register anything he’s saying because you can feel him. Against you. Pressed against your behind.

Oh. Oh.

You think of what to say but fall short. Instead, you lay still. Waiting. Your heart pattering so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

And then, you yelp; the resounding smack! of his palm shocks through your body. The small of your back where your flesh melts into its heart shape burns. Sending you up the mattress to get away from it.

He’s just hit you. No — he’s just spanked you.

“What the—”

Before you can even begin to comprehend, let alone retort, his palm hits you even harder. So hard that the sound rattles you and rings in your ears.

His hand swats you again, and again, and again. You can barely distinguish the noise of him grunting with each move, watching as his face scowls when you peek your head back.

And then, his smacks hit lower,

lower,

and once more, lower.

Right over your most intimate part. All yours.

And now, partly his — with his palm cupping you there for a split second before pulling away instantaneously when your head whips around to meet his gaze.

His brows are still settled low on his face, with his eyes squinted at you and mouth twisted into a disgruntled scowl.

But beneath it, you can see his guilt rising. His unwitting abdication of you revealing to him in an instant. You, slightly bent over your frilly bed. You, gawking at him so bewildered he’s surprised you haven’t slapped him back. You. You. By him. Joel. Joel.

Joel dad’s-best-friend-Joel. Uncle Joel. Your old man. Your dad’s buddy, Joel. Beer buddy, Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.

Joel who loves you as his own.

Fuck. Joel. Really?

You feel fractured in two. Dichotomized between the part of you that feels sickened, almost. Frightened. Pure and untouched being corrupted in a split second.

And, equally, by the part of you that doesn’t feel that way at all. The fraction of you that feels wanted. Finally desired. Worthy. Worthy of Joel, worthy of his touch, worthy of his attention. His failed attempt of feigning composure a signal of how much you’ve meant to him this whole time. Of how much you can be wanted. To be loved so much by him that he cares for you in every sense of the word. The tiny, insidious part of you that felt jealousy toward those that Joel unconditionally loved. Wishing you were in their place.

Sarah. Admittedly, you hadn’t seen this coming. But it wasn’t as though you hadn’t wished for it. Like that one time in Joel’s garage. When your father was passed out inside, left asleep on the couch with his beer left warming in his hold, you hiked your skirt a few inches higher; sat alone with Joel in his old camping chairs and demurely playing a game of one sided footsie with him. Joel was talking at you about something monotonous. Some old lecture. And maybe it was nothing. Really, it might’ve been mostly your imagination. But you swore there was something different about the way he peered up at you — not just anger for your silly game of footsie despite urging you to pay attention, but real hunger — (you pulled your foot away in an instant.)

Joel staggers back, your stunned expression mirroring his own. You’re still frozen in position as you watch him pace in the small space of your bedroom. Nearly knocking over your dainty jewelry and makeup stashed on your porcelain vanity, swearing loudly when he inevitably does, his hip bumping your pink perfume bottle in his moment of frantic realization. He hinges down, gently placing it back in its position before settling his attention back onto you.

“I—” your eyes lock momentarily before he twists away. “Sit up for me” he murmurs with his back facing you. You’ve never seen Joel so frazzled. So out of his own willpower. You hesitate for a beat longer before gradually turning your body toward where he’s stood with his hand in his heads, perching yourself on the edge of your bed. Your hands are politely placed on your lap despite your ass still burning red beneath you.

Joel is victimized by his own puzzle of sorts too. Pulled between his rational self that loves you innocently like his own. Wanting nothing more than to watch you succeed — build your career, have a family of your own, grandchildren, visiting your old man Joel. The white picket fence you deserve. The happy ending he’d give anything to see you have. To be the one stable role model in your life, waiting at your every beck and call. The only thing a man like him is good for. The only thing he lives for. But beneath it all lurks that ugly, ruined, most selfish inner part of himself fueled entirely by his bloodlust. His nauseating thirst to teach you and have you and protect you like his own kin. Greedily ravenous to claim you in every way he can without his blood running through your veins, without his last name belonging alongside your first. To teach you every lesson he can mangle his way into. To put his love into you. Make it stick.

He cautiously walks toward you. The room is so silent that you can hear his knees creak as he hinges to sit docile beside you. You aren’t sure which version of him you’re with, and you aren’t sure which one you want. “That wasn’t right. I’m sorry sweetheart. Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much, kiddo. I know.” He finally braves a glance at you and swears under a loud sigh. “Hey. Hey. Look at me, kid.” He holds your face in both of his warm hands. “I’m sorry, honey. That ain’t right of me to do to you. I know, baby.”

But if it wasn’t right, then why are your insides all tangled up? You hate to admit it but you’re ignited. And judging by the stiff sensation pressed against your knee, you bravely assume Joel feels it too. You gawk at him. A little coquettish without really thinking about it. Slightly blinded by your impulse and batting your eyelashes as kittenish as you can without being obvious.

But Joel knows. He always does. He doesn’t have a sixth sense, he just has age. Knowledge. Power over you in the form of sun-weathered wrinkles and a body shaped by years of hard work and callouses to prove his determination cause of providing for his family. The same hands that are delicately bracing your face having brought women pleasure for decades longer than you have existed and fixed your nightstand when the hinges broke. ‘I’ve got decades on you, little girl.’ “Oh.” He faux’s a puzzled look, but you know that he’s well aware of your situation. “Oh? Is that how it is?”

You break your silence. Gulping embarrassingly louder than you intended to. “Joel—”

“You liked that, didn’t you?” You go to retort, shaking your head and aimlessly stuttering. Joel stares at you wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape and scanning your face, his two hands still cupping your cheeks gently. Slightly disgusted at your gall. At how you mirror his own. ”That was supposed to be a punishment. You weren’t supposed to…like it.”

“I’m . . . sorry?” You’re scared your heart might lurch out of your chest when you recognize the expression on his face. Hooded eyes and lips pressed in a tight line. The one you’ve only seen once before, in his garage. Starving. “You’re just a kid. Just a goddamn baby. You shouldn’t…we shouldn’t … this ain’t right.” And yet, your faces are a hairbreadth apart.

His eyes darken; he’s onto you. His mouth melts against yours hard, so hard that you would think your lips may bruise tomorrow if you even had time to think. You can feel him everywhere. Pawing at every inch of your bare skin that he can access and gripping, tightly. Soothing the red flush of your behind with a fierce grope. You gasp, but Joel steals it as an opportunity to satiate his appetite; deepening the feverish kiss by stroking his tongue against yours. You can’t do anything but mesh your lips just as hard against his, clumsily trying to match his fervor until you feel his hand slither to the waistband of your shorts. Teetering at the lace edge.

“Joel… I don’t know if… I’ve never….” he pulls away to catch his breath, the both of you panting into each other’s mouths, his forehead pressed against yours as you feel his capable fingers toying with the delicate lace of your waistband. He steals another kiss over your panting mouth. “I know, kiddo. Don’t be scared, honey. I’ll make it so good. I promise.” His knuckles accidentally graze right over where you’re most sensitive and you gasp, bucking your hips up absentmindedly in response to his touch. He smirks. “So responsive. Nobody ever touch you here? Really?” You know he knows the answer, but he just wants you humiliated — willing, shaking shake your head ‘no’ just so he can groan; biting the delicate junction of your neck and nipping at the soft skin there. Nudging his fingers a bit harder into that sensitive, untouched spot and you writhe embarrassingly beneath him.

“Wait…” Without a word, he slowly tugs down the thin cotton of your shorts. You hear him suck in a sharp inhale at the sight of you almost bare, all for him. Joel silently wishes he felt even a sliver more of guilt at the sight of your white ruffled panties. His best buddies daughter. Complete with a tiny bow at the center. But he doesn’t. If anything, it just confirms what he’s always known; that you’re his — — The only reason he’s kept that bastard around as company. For the promise of you. To be there for you. Like the time he drove ten hours to your campus for parents weekend when your father said he was too busy. A date, if he remembers correctly. But Joel didn’t mind the drive. He groans. It’s a deep, guttural noise and you blush. You were half expecting Joel to be more collected, more detached, but what would you know. Heat bubbles in your gut all the same as your hips buck once more. Joel eyes you like you’re something to eat. Biting the bone of his knuckle as you lay there, watching him, coyly, pressing your knees together in an attempt of preserving any semblance of your dignity.

In a split second, Joel’s head lowers to be level with your thighs. Gently spreading them apart to gain closer access to you and mouthing over the cotton material of your panties without a second thought. You whine, legs kicking out as you feel Joel’s mouth soil your panties even more than they already are. ”O-oh,” you try to push his head away, yet clamp your legs around his head in the same effort, overwhelmed at all of the sudden contact, but he just grips the backs of your knees — deepening his soft kiss over your still-clothed mound. You don’t know how to respond to the newfound pleasure except to try and squirm away, to which he simply hovers his head above you, replacing his mouth with a sturdy rub of his fingers, watching as your legs jolt and immediately kick at his shoulder blades; trying to squirm away from the pressure by scooting your body up the mattress. Joel tuts softly, grabbing the backs of your knees and heaves you back down toward him until you’re prone beneath him, legs forced to pliantly widen around the breadth of his burly torso. He pins you there by his hips, bearing his full weight onto you until you feel his pelvis against yours — meeting your core in a deliberate, brief grind and smirking when you twitch beneath him. “You gonna let me touch on you or you gon’ keep beatin’ me? Hm?” He does it again and you shiver.

“I’m not— I’m — stop being so — dramatic,” it’s hard to form a sentence with Joel is continuously rolling his hips against yours, not when you can feel just how hard he is. How he’s heavy against your core and you can’t believe that this is Joel.

Almost as if he could read what you were thinking, which would be feasible with the way you’re shuddering beneath him, he leans in for a greedy kiss, open mouthed and messy, before humming into the shell of your ear. “You feel that?” he punches his hips against yours to emphasize his wanting and your breath hitches.

“You feel how hard I am for you?” he nips your earlobe, rocking against you once more to let you really feel the heft of him. To remind you of his brute size, to make sure you don’t forget that mounted above you is a man. Strong enough to have you crushed into the mattress with no effort, large enough that your legs are forced to part almost painfully wide to accommodate his virile size, old enough that he has the crows lines to prove it and an age that means you could’ve been calling him daddy and mean it. “You gon’ be good for me now?” you nod against your better judgment, exhaling a shaky breath as he lifts to slither his hand to the waistband of your panties. “You gonna let me see you?” he whispers, teasing you by faking a tug of your underwear just to snicker when your legs immediately clam.

“C’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. Spread ‘em legs for your old man.” You don’t, still shaking, not even budging the tense press of your knees when Joel tries to pry your legs open himself. He hums in contemplation. “Let’s get those trainin’ wheels off. How ‘bout that? How ‘bout this?” his calloused fingers trace their way along your abdomen to the edge of your cami top, rubbing the exposed skin where your top has rucked up, leaning down to kiss your navel gently. He peers up at you beneath hooded eyes when your hips shift. “Hm? What’dya say?” “O-okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, letting him slowly pull your shirt up the expanse of your torso and audibly groan at the sight of you exposed. Your bare breasts all his to leer at and he licks his lips, pinning your wrists beside your head when you reflexively go to hide your chest. “Fuck,” he murmurs beneath his breath, reaching out to rudely grip at your chest and smirking when you whine. Biting the flesh of your breast and groaning even louder. You shift uncomfortably beneath him, the burning of your core getting harder to ignore, and you buck your hips into nothing. Joel meets your restlessness with his fingers once more, rubbing small circles onto where you’re most sensitive.

“Joel—”

“— Let me make you feel good.” And this time you don’t oppose when he starts to tug your panties down, stealing a look between your legs before you can try and close them again, forcing your legs open with a rough grip on your knees and swearing, whistling lowly and you try reach out your leg to kick him in humiliation. “Dirty girl. You’re wet.”

You tuck your lip between your teeth. “Just… do something.”

Ignoring you, he continues his ogling; staring at you between your legs as though you weren’t there, reaching out to give you a curt smack over your core just to see how you would react. You yelp and squirm, trying to kick him once more and he laughs.

“Joel…” you’re getting fussy now. Rubbing your feet against the mattress and gnawing at your bottom lip, waiting for him to just stop scrutinizing you and do anything.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.” Tentatively, he finally touches you. Your breath hitches when he gently brushes his fingers against where you’re most sensitive. Pressing a bit harder when he sees your toes begin to curl and your eyes widen. “Pretty little pussy.”

“Stop—”

“Anyone ever touch you like this?” he asks you so casually that it sounds almost clinical. Like he isn’t currently touching you harder just to see you react in a way that makes his dick hard. “N-no,” you whine, leg jolting when he momentarily speeds up his motions, pressing harder onto your bud and rubbing tiny circles there.

“No? Really?”

“Fuck - oh! - off.” He chuckles, seemingly amused before he’s pulling his hand away and hooking them under your thighs to position himself between your legs once again. Lowering his head, blowing against where you’re bare to make you shiver.

“How ‘bout this? Anyone ever do this?” Joel peers up from between your legs, fixating his gaze onto yours and leaning to lazily kiss you right over the center of your core.

“Oh!” you yelp, the sensation of Joel’s mouth overwhelmingly hot against your clit makes your knees desperately try and clamp together. Joel wanted to tease you a bit. Bring you apart with his tongue. Play with you. But hearing you keen at just a measly kiss has his head spinning and cock hard — he ruts against your frilly sheets like a teenage boy, his large hands gripping the sides of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. Groaning at the taste of you and kissing and laving his tongue against your clit like a man starved.

It’s lewd. You’re so wet that you can audibly hear the squelches of where you meet Joel’s hot mouth and it’s obscene. Mortifying and mind-blowing. Your legs shake and hips spasm, but Joel just pins his forearm against your hipbones, holding you in place and shaking his head against you.

You try to bite your lip to keep your sounds at bay, but it’s no use — that unfamiliar build in your stomach creeps faster and faster and you’re moaning, too turned on and bewildered to stop yourself. Joel pulls away. Grinning when you whine, your chest heaving beautifully and Joel is possibly the hardest he’s ever been. Which is shocking, considering his age and that little blue pill he keeps on his nightstand.

“Why,” you whimper, hips squirming at the sudden lack of contact and Joel just laughs at you.

“Patience, sweet girl. Gotta get ‘ya ready.”

Ready? Oh. Ready.

Your attention is abruptly brought to the front of Joel’s jeans. The seemingly hefty bulge presses at the denim seams, so large that the fabric is taut and you gulp. If Joel senses your hesitation, he doesn’t say anything. He just wordlessly reaches his hand back between your legs, using your distraction to press a single bulking finger right between your folds.

You cry out, the stretch of his one finger being equal to two of yours and it burns. “Hurts—” he’s hovering above you, pinning your knees open with his own, mouth ghosting over yours and breathing down your neck. Kissing you softly on your jaw when he feels your tight, dripping cunt envelop him to the knuckle. “Fuckin’ hell. This all for me?” his finger presses impossibly deeper, curling and beneath the fullness, you’re starting to feel blips of pleasure beneath — sparking in bursts as he keeps curling his finger inside of you; gritting his teeth at how tight you pulse around his digit.

“Asked you a question darlin’,” he hums low into your ear, beginning to properly thrust his finger into you and smirk when your breath hitches, hips bucking into his touch. You can feel your slickness down your thighs and you burn in humiliation at the thought. Without warning, Joel tries to push in a second finger — groaning when your walls refuse him entry, clamping so tightly around his finger that he has to grit his teeth as to not come right there.

“Relax, baby. Ease up a bit, kiddo. Shit — fuckin’ stranglin’ my finger, ain’t ‘ya?” “Sorry. Jus’ feels really…!” you cry out once more, rutting your hips when his thumb comes to softly press at your clit. Your whole body shakes, and for a moment, you relax just enough so that Joel is able to push a second finger into you. His forehead presses against yours, thrusting two of his fingers into you and curling with no remorse. “Feels good, huh?” “Uh-huh!” you grind your hips back against his hand, feeling him stroking that spot inside of you that your measly fingers could never reach on your own. Your eyes roll back, your hand flying out to grab Joel’s wrist when he begins to move his fingers even faster and harder inside of you; you keen, your entire body tensing and back arching up and he impossibly slots a third digit into you, his wrist continuously circling and you — are you crying? ”So-full,” you whine, and sure enough there’s tears running down your cheek. He wants to tell you to just wait until he finally has his way with you, if he’ll even fit, but you’re clamping around his fingers so tightly that you’re unmistakably about to come. You feel beside yourself, the foreign noises you’re making registering but failing to register over the overwhelming heat coursing through your body, your toes curling and legs shaking.

“Wait-wait-wait-it’s too much… Joel!” he ignores you, curling his fingers into you with a crazed fervor that leaves you gasping, you weakly try to push his circling wrist away but it’s no use, your wrist limply falling to your side.

“Thaaats it, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” And, then, it violently crashes; your mouth slacking and body bowing as it spreads through you, searing white hot as you sob against his hovering mouth.

Your legs flail as it just keeps going, his fingers still moving inside of you and you cry out. “I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you. Da-” he has half the mind to cut himself off. You can barely register it over the crushing haze you’re in, your legs still twitching in the after effects of what is monumentally your first ever orgasm.

“What?” you timidly squeak, eyes still closed and panting for air, opening them to see Joel licking the fingers that were just inside of you, before watching as he palms himself over his jeans, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark, eyeing you beneath him with a predatory, hungry stare. Your mind goes blank. “Are we gonna…” you whisper. Shaky leg lifting to press your foot demurely against where the denim tents, and he groans, gripping your ankle and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

“Fuck?” he replies, curt and lewd and you blush, covering your face with your hands as if you hadn’t just cum all over his fingers. He smirks, and only now have you noticed that he’s still fully dressed and you’re completely bare beneath him.

“Dunno. Don’t know if you’re ready for that. You’re just a kid.”

“No… I am,” you whine petulantly and he tilts his head at you.

“You gonna be a big girl for me?”

You nod your head, hands grabbing at his rattled flannel to try and take it off yourself. “Yes. Yes, yes, I swear. Please.” He swats your hands away, peering down at you with a smirk in tow at your babbling.

“Oh, so she can be polite.” You’re reminded of all the times Joel tried to grill your please-and-thank-you’s into you. Not that you weren’t a polite, meek girl, you were, just not always with him — slacking on your manners at neighborhood barbecues and having to remind you by hovering your plate away from you, “what d’ya say?”, only passing it to you when you grumpily rolled your eyes and mumbled “please, sir.” You don’t dwell long on the queasiness that follows. Slowly, Joel lifts his shirt— his large biceps that he’s built from decades of construction and handy-work raising above his head to reveal the tan, built, albeit slight pudgy body that you’ve seen countless of times in his garage or by the lake, but never like this. Hulking over you and overwhelmingly man. Your eyes linger back on his face. Painfully handsome; his crows feet are a homecoming — cornering his soft, dark eyes — that sweet puppy-dog stare.

His salt and pepper scruff. Curling strands of greying hair. Saccharine tobacco. Humid southern air. The leather seats of his classic truck. “Alright smartass. Who sings this?”

Then, he moves to his belt, deft fingers pulling the leather through the loops and tossing it somewhere in the midst of your room, tugging his jeans down until he’s just in his boxers and then — oh.

He’s big. Not that there’s any history to compare him with, but it’s undeniable. You gasp at the sight, your eyes flickering to where he’s exposed himself. It looks almost sore. The thick tip of him dripping. The sight is vulgar. You gulp. Not quite sure what you were expecting, but the fat length of him and greying tuft of hair (even there!) an unrelenting reminder of his maturity, age, and above all, authority over you.

He examines your every reaction carefully, fisting himself for a moment and hissing upon the brief contact. He moves closer and forces your legs to spread to accommodate his bulking size; his body is so much larger than yours that your inner thighs burn at the stretch.

“That’s…are you sure that’s gonna… fit?” You whisper sheepishly and he barely hides his cocky smirk, hovering above you and pressing an achingly tender peck against your forehead, stroking the top of your head delicately before meeting your lips — unlike the other kisses; slowed and passionate. Intimate and gentle enough that it feels like conversation. He slots his lips against yours once, twice more; I love you, let me put my love into you, like this.

“We’ll make it fit. Always worryin’ your pretty little head, aren’t you darlin’?” With your hips forcefully splayed beneath him, he grabs himself and begins to line up his cock to where you’re embarrassingly wet. You squirm at the sensation.

“Always worryin’. Always stressin’. Poor baby.” He teases you, baiting you into holding your breath to see you buck your hips in anticipation as he traces your slit with his painfully red tip.

“Just need some lovin’, don’t-ya?” He slots the head of his member against your opening. Forcing the bulbous tip slightly inside of you and you gasp at the intrusion.

“Y-yes. Please.” Love me.

“Biiig stretch now, kiddo. It might hurt a little. But I’ve got ‘ya, okay?” You nod eagerly, lifting your head a bit to try and see him begin to enter you painfully slow, the both of you gasping, he leans against your forehead, tilting his own gaze downwards to watch alongside you. “Wait—it hurts,” you yelp, the stretch of merely the tip of him inside of you already barely manageable; he halts, trying to distract you with languid, tender kisses up the expanse of your neck. Trying for his own sake to think about anything about how tight you are. About how sacred this is. Your first time, your innocence, now his to shape. His little girl. All his. “Gotta let me in, sweetheart. Let me show you how to make love, baby.” You desperately wish that phrase would send your spine crawling rather than arching, his old man theatrics in any other scenario surely earning a snort from you, but instead, awfully, you whine, trying to spread your legs further to make space for him despite the stinging pain inside betraying you. Cautiously, he begins to move again. Pushing his length ever-so-slightly deeper until your heat has swallowed him halfway, your hips squirming in discomfort. Beneath him, you’re whining in bursts of piercing pain. You’ve never felt so full. Sweat is dripping between the two of you, his large arms bracketing your trembling frame and all you can see or think or feel is Joel. You peel your eyes open just enough to make eye-contact with him from above you, his silhouette impossibly broad and backlit only by the warmth of your bedside lamp, and by the glare of streetlights fluttering through your lace curtains.

He stares at you like he’s in disbelief. His eyebrows pinched and mouth slightly agape, pressing open-mouthed kisses over your own gasping mouth when he somehow gets even deeper — a sharp, shaky cry escaping you as he finally bottoms out. His hips finally flush against yours. He meets your wail with a groan of his own, slumping over you and inadvertently pinning his hipbones hard against the most sensitive part of you.

You try scramble away, clawing the sides of your bed, and then Joel’s bulking arms, but it’s no use — Joel’s full body weight presses against you. Fastening you to the mattress and any slight movement hurts; the thick weight of him splitting you open for him heedless of your aching. “It’s too much — you’re too much — too deep, Joel, you—”

“I know baby, I know. Hardest part is over. Just,” he gulps when you clench around him, nipping the skin of your jaw to keep him from thrusting into the wet heat of you. “Just gotta-fuck-trust me now, darlin’.”

“It hurts,” you subtly shuffle again to try and feel any bit of comfortability but it backfires — shooting a twinge of pain back through your spine and you cry out once again. Joel stops you by bearing even more of his body weight against you, tutting softly at your naive defiance and whispering gently in your ear. “C’mon, baby. Be brave for me. Don’t hurt yourself now.” He drags his knuckles against your pinched expression, leaning in for another doting kiss against your mouth. You feel his fingers trail their way down the expanse of your stomach to brush soft circles against your bud, caressing you there in hopes of distracting you from the ache. Pecking kiss after kiss and sighing contentedly when he feels you begin to slacken, just barely spasming around him and he shivers. “You feelin’ any better?” “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips jerk against Joel’s, but this time, you gasp — not in pain, but at the fleeting feeling of Joel’s thick moving inside of you. It aches, but the brief movement forces a meek moan to spill from your lips.

“Startin’ to feel good?” You nod again, bucking your hips experimentally and the both of you groan at the feeling. You do it again, huffing at the blips of pleasure when you feel the slight drag inside of you.

“Yeah, I think so…I think,” your hips move once more to consolidate what you’re about to ask for. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Can you, please, um, I think I’m ready.” “Y’sure?” And when your heel lifts to dig into the small of his back, he doesn’t question you again.

“Please.” You whisper, your saccharine voice breaking when he meets your tiny jolts with a single, lethargic thrust — carefully pulling his hips away until only the tip remains inside of you, then driving the entire length of him back inside with a deep roll.

You keen, back arching off the mattress despite Joel’s entire weight melded against you; writhing under him as he starts actually fucking into you with fervor, rocking the length of him into you and grunting in your ear.

If his fingers made you feel full before, this was an entirely different ballpark. You could almost swear you could feel every vein of his shaft and throb of him inside you as he fills you impossibly deeper.

“Joel,” you whimper, head tilting back and he latches frantically onto the expanse of your neck, biting so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning, but all you can care to think about or feel is Joel.

“Shh, baby.” He coos, using all his willpower as to not rut desperately into you, and to think about the old man that could very well be downstairs; passed out or just now clicking the door open. His calculated pace falters for a beat when both of your legs wrap tightly around the bulk of his lower back, meeting his languid pumps with a grind, moaning and squirming when he grazes against a spot you never knew to exist within you. His hips snapping against yours roughly and you nod eagerly.

“Yes, Joel. Feels good now, Joel. Joel,” you cry his name out like a mantra, “more. Please. Joel. Please. Pl—” “Fuck,” he growls, his hand clasping over your mouth and gripping the sides of your jaw, squeezing so tightly you almost bite your tongue. “You ‘tryna wake up the whole goddamn neighborhood?” You shudder, eyes rolling back and Joel’s careful composure is slipping — the sound of smacking flesh ringing through the room as he begins to really give it to you; brutally plunging into you and grunting with every erratic strike.

Your whines are stifled under his palm, and you’re so wet that you’re dripping — leaving a mess over Joel’s thighs and stomach.

His knee hikes up to position your leg open in a way that fills you even more, the stretch burning deliciously and you can’t do anything but take him, his pace unrelenting and bulk pinning you in position as you spasm. “That’s it, honey.” And then, he fucking leans even closer, hovering his face less than an inch away from yours, locking his gaze directly into yours and make-shifting a kiss over his hand — right over where your mouth would be under the current suffocation of his palm.

It’s getting too much. You’re bonded to the bed under his crushing weight, the feeling of him splitting you open sending tremors through you. You’re too full. He’s too deep. He’s hitting that same spot over and over and sending violent shivers through you. You try to tell him to stop, he’s too big, it’s too much, but it’s no use — his hand remains the same, fixed over your mouth, and you’re positive you’re drooling. “Thaaat’s the spot, hm?” He can hear your hiccuped moans beneath the muted suffocation of his palm. You can feel every drag of him inside of you. “Doin’ - fuck! - doin’ so well for me, ain’t ya?” He’s really starting to lose it now. Your heat tight as a fist around him, clenching wildly, and he can’t help but slump even more against you, groaning unabashedly into your ear. Going insane with how perfect you feel. How perfect you are. His sweet, precious girl. All his.

“Brave little girl.” His hips are slamming frenetically. “Doin’ so well for your daddy.”

Your eyes shoot open to meet Joel’s disheveled stare, eyes wide and his hips pause on the deepest part inside of you, holding right against that sensitive cluster of nerves and your hips frantically write against him.

If you were any less depraved as a girl, if you hadn’t held that awful void inside of you for so long, maybe you would’ve pushed Joel off of you. Told him to fuck off. Called him a creep.

You could try to blame it on Joel’s virile stature, curse it as irresistible, but you know he’s the only person that can patch that cavity. The only one you want to.

You sob — rolling against him in a frenzy and whining because yes. Yes. You want to tell him yes. The word growling out of him ringing true like a depraved piece of a puzzle slotting into place; his hips meeting yours desperately as he rocks into you again. Your hand clutches onto his wrist as you nod. Yes. He eases his grip over your mouth, weaving your lips together instead in a bruising kiss.

You’re whimpering unabashedly into the kiss. “I know, honey. I’ve got ‘ya. Daddy’s got ‘ya. Tell me who your daddy is.”

You might not be able to face yourself when dawn arrives, but right now, it feels too good to deprive yourself of what feels right. What settles into your bones like tantalizing belonging.

“You,” you whine, chasing his mouth to steal another zealous kiss.

“Say it. Shit, honey, you feel so fuckin’ perfect.”

“Ohmy-” his pace is the most merciless it’s been since he first entered you. Slamming against you ruthlessly and you can feel that coil begin to tighten.

“Who’s your daddy?”

“Joel—” You’re on the precipice. He can feel it. Clenching around him and he’s surely going to follow behind soon.

“Fuckin’ say it—”

“You! Daddy. Daddy. Daddy, please!”

“That’s right.” He growls, and your head is spinning with adrenaline. “Think that boy could do this to you? Be what you need?” He slows his thrusts into deep, passionate drives into you. “Be your fuckin’ daddy? No, baby. I’m your daddy, ain’t I? Shit, y’needed this. Needed a man. To make love to you.

“Yes. Daddy.” Nothing could drag him away from this moment. From you. Your sweet scent. Vanilla and soft whipped musk of you. Your heady skin. Your beautiful disposition. Holding his breath just looking at you. Dreading the release building in his gut because he knows he’s made his grave, and he’ll have to lay in it come daylight.

Your entire body seizes; arching and shuddering at the electricity convulsing through you. White sparkling light littering your vision as you clamp tightly around his length, quivering and keening at the shockwaves.

“I’ve got ‘ya. Thaaat’s it, sweet girl. Daddy loves you.”

‘Let me show you how to make love.’

Your mouth is agape, wordlessly clawing at his back to try and pull him even closer to you, trembling as he fucks you through it.

The first blush of daylight is creeping through your lace curtains, spilling silhouettes of the intricate netting across your bedroom floor. Still too early for the birds to sing yet. Delicate filigree shadowing the span of Joel’s skin, muted rays of light beginning to infiltrate your room and dimly light corners of your room.

“Daddy loves you. Fuck. ‘M close, baby. Shit. Shit.” He growls into your ear, rutting into you madly and your legs tighten around him.

“Please.” He tries to shrug you off him, head spinning with the fogginess of his imminent release, but you flash him a blissed out look; eyes glazed over and pressing a painfully delicate kiss against the junction of his neck.

Sweet thing you.

You’re still convulsing beneath him, frantically grinding your hips against hiss. “Please, daddy. Love you. I love you. IloveyouJoel—” His entire body weight slumps against you. Your bodies melding and shuddering against each other as you milk him through his orgasm. You can’t get close enough. Wanting to crawl inside his skin and stay there.

He groans; gruff and virile and Joel. All him. Spilling into you like he belongs there. Like he has the right to. His little girl. “I love you, daddy. I love you. I love you.”

And for a moment, breath gasping into each other’s mouth, and dawn-light lurking behind outside, you and Joel can play pretend.